Pets and other Critters

Fluffy and the Well Groomed

2012-02-05T12:03:00.000-05:00

A Not So Somber Anniversary

2012-02-02T15:31:00.003-05:00

At this moment a Apricot Canary named Schubert is singing in the next room.

My mother passed away one year ago. Death anniversaries are not something I go out of my way to commemorate but as this is a first, maybe you'll indulge me.

Mom loved Christmas, the decorations, the music, the gifts. Did she ever love the gifts! My Christmas stocking was always jammed full with everything from earrings to chewing gum- all festively wrapped.

This Christmas was different. Dad has his own approach to gift giving. I received nice box of dog poop bags and some lovely money.

My first thought was to buy books with the money (never a bad choice). But instead I waited for just the right thing. Yesterday I found the right thing. He is singing today on the anniversary of my mother's death.

Mom was a very good sport about pets. She let my brother and me keep earthworms in the refrigerator. We needed the worms, you see, to feed snakes and turtles and skinks. Mom even allowed us to continue keeping worms in the refrigerator after one of us failed to secure the lid on the worm container. The worms had spread out in their search for an escape from their refrigerator prison. There were worms and sticky worm trails on the walls, the shelves, the milk, even inside the fruit drawer.

Worm trails notwithstanding, Mom often checked with us to be sure the snakes and turtles and skinks had been fed and their enclosures properly cleaned. Not only did Mom let us have pets, she taught us to care for them, and about them. She was right. A well cared for pet is one of the most joyful obligations there is.

And so on this first anniversary of Mom's passing, a pet bird reminds us that there is always joy to be had and joy to remember.

Fluffy and the Collar

2012-01-31T15:52:00.000-05:00

It Happened in January

2012-01-26T19:19:00.013-05:00

Fourteen years ago, I was hypnotized by a green eyed, probably Chihuahua, puppy.

It was a beautiful January day, sunny and cold. The Handsome One and I were on a mission to select a puppy to join our family. While a disgruntled, probably Irish Wolfhound mix named Carla waited in the truck, THO and I walked through rows of dogs. I remember wanting to order all of the doggies to line up and follow us out. (Self control sometimes prevails).

THO was hoping to find a good natured goofy dog, perhaps a lab mix. He choose Rose. Truly, as a puppy, Rose looked like she might be a lab mix. However, she grew up to be a terrier mix. Nevertheless, she is goofy.

The plan was to return home with one puppy. Somehow or other, we came home with two puppies.

Lester's eyes did not stay green nor did he retain the ability to hypnotise. I think. Though there are times when I find myself getting very sleepy.

Here we are in January 2012. Lester is a senior dog. He's still pretty spunky but sometimes the spunk is obscured by stiffness. His thirst has increased and with it the need to urinate. Indeed, he can no longer hold it all night. Thus, in the wee hours (if you'll pardon the phrase) Lester and I trudge down the stairs. Actually, I do the stair trudging, Lester gets carried. Naturally, I then let Lester carry himself outside to empty his own bladder.

I've always liked January. It's usually cold and crisp and if we're lucky, snowy. The holiday hubbub is over and the normal routine is welcome. Some people do the resolutions thing in January. That's too guilt inducing for my taste. I prefer to reminisce in January. Sometimes I reminisce about other Januaries.

One more thing

Carla gave us dirty looks for many weeks before accepting Rose and Lester's intrusive presence. It is said that some individuals are more difficult to hypnotize.

Fluffy and the Hawk

2012-01-20T10:55:00.000-05:00

More Idiopathy

2012-01-16T10:34:00.009-05:00

Idiopathic happenings remain rampant around here. Wouldn't you know, more idiopathy, just as things were looking up, instead of sideways, for Rose. (Recall her vestibular adventure last November).

Now that Rose's head tilt is barely noticable we are trying out a new diagnosis: Canine Dementia.

If you've ever perused a dog magazine, you've seen those heartrending ads touting medication for doggy alzheimers. A very cute dog with a slightly gray muzzle gazes vacantly at the camera. The caption reads something like: I'd say hello but I can't remember who you are. At the bottom of the page some kind words from the makers of a pill helpfully tell you to consult your veterinarian.

Symptoms of Canine Dementia

-getting lost in familiar places
-wandering aimlessly
-forgetting house training
-staring blankly
-not interested in playing
-failing to recognize loved ones
-standing in corners
-sleep disturbance
-random barking

Here's the thing. Not a great deal of research has been done on the aging dog. Most of the recommended treatment is similar to that being offered to elderly human beings.

There are supplements and food stuffs believed to assist in slowing the brain decline that comes with age. Examples include, B vitamins, CholodinR, vitamin C, SAMe, beta carotene and blueberries. These substances may reduce the damage done by free radicals. Throwing your fist in the air and chanting Free Radicals! may help too.

Specific to dogs, we have available to us, expensive prescription dog foods that contain important ingredients that may help curb the ruin being racked to your old dog's brain. There is that very expensive pill your vet can prescribe. L-deprenyl is purported to give dopamine a boost. If the theory that an old brain runs low on dopanime which brings on dementia is true, and the L-deprenyl actually does improve dopamine action, the pill may ease symptoms of dementia.

Or you can try to soothe your dog's distress with stuff like DAP, dog appeasing pheromone. Sigh. Lighting a lavender scented candle may work too.

Fluffy and the Language Lesson

2012-01-07T15:00:00.002-05:00

Society Finches

2012-01-04T10:34:00.002-05:00

Up until recently, the Finches in my aviary have been Zebra Finches.

Zebras are spunky plucky birds. The males are easily distinguishable by their red cheeks and fancy designed wings.

The view has changed somewhat, thanks to the addition of three Society Finches. Society Finches are not flashy. They are white with tan or brown markings. The male and female are difficult to tell apart. (Some experts claim that the beaks are shaped, ever so slightly, differently between the sexes). For most of us, the only way to be sure of the Society's sex is if she lays an egg. Both sexes sing a soft sweet sound, rather like a muted cricket chirp.

Though generally bland in pattern, there is a variation in Society feathery that is quite kicky. Some Society Finches have a tuft of feathers on their heads in a pattern resembling a bad toupee.

Why are they called Society Finches? Because these birds tend to get along with everybody in the aviary. Some bird species are aggressive or snooty, not so the Societies. Although they have a clannish tendency to hang out together lined up on a perch, they aren't an exclusive clique. There is no territory driven unpleasantness when Societies share a cage with other species. Indeed, the Society will very kindly foster eggs abandoned by the more high strung types such as Gouldian Finches, who may wig out over some minor occurrence and neglect their parental duties.

Happily, the needs of the Society Finch mirror the needs of the Zebra. They both eat the same seed mix, enjoy fresh greens, fruits and vegetables, eat grit, bathe in the community water bowl, sing and swing - they are overall delightful and beautiful little birds. It is an honor to have them in my home aviary.

see some nice pics at
http://www.finchaviary.com/Birds/Societies.htm

http://www.efinch.com/varieties.htm

Breed Profile: Shiba Inu

2012-01-01T11:21:00.003-05:00

The Shiba Inu was bred to hunt in mountainous areas of Japan. He specialized in flushing small game in dense undergrowth. Shiba means brushwood. Ibu means dog.

There are six native Japanese dog breeds. The Shiba Inu is the smallest. At one time, there were three Shiba breeds named for their area of origin:

Shinshu Shiba, from Nagano Prefecture
Mino Shiba from Gifu Prefecture
Sanin Shiba from the northeast mainland

Following WWII and a distemper outbreak in 1952, the Shuba Inu were almost wiped out. The breed was saved by interbreeding the three Shibas to create the Shiba Inu we know today.

Shiba Inus are small/medium sized dogs: 13.5-16.5 inches at the shoulder and 17-23 pounds. Lifespan: 12-15 years. They have short double coats in a variety of colors including black, black and tan, red, and tan. There are usually white highlights found in various locations such as cheeks, chest, feet, tail and butt. Does the Shiba Inu's coat shed? Yes indeed.

A Shiba Inu is an energetic dog that needs a daily workout. He is often described as dignified. This is a nice way to say he can be rather haughty. He also can be bossy, sometimes even aggressive toward other dogs. Shiba Inu are alert and bold, occasionally noisy - in other words, a good watch dog.

Fun fact: the Shiba Inu has no dew claws.

Shiba Inu Manifesto

- I'll obey your arbitrary rule until I figure out a way to circumvent it

- my coat will keep me warm outside, however, I prefer to alternate my time inside and outside as I choose

- you will earn my loyalty if you deserve it

Next Breed Profile: Lhasa Apso!

see some nice pics
http://www.akc.org/breeds/shiba_inu/photos.cfm
sources:
Encyclopedia of Dog Breeds by D. Caroline Coile, Ph.D
The Ultimate Enclyclodedia of Dogs by Dr Peter Larkin and Mike Stockman

More Ortho Adventures

2011-12-27T15:20:00.006-05:00

As some of you may recall, a couple of months ago, I reported that Lois was having some hind leg issues. Our vet didn't know what was wrong so we consulted with an orthopedic veterinarian. Diagnosis: torn cruciate ligament or ACL. ( Orthopedic Adventures http://petsandothercritters.blogspot.com/2011/10/orthopedic-adventures.html). Treatment recommended by this orthopedic specialist was -gasp- cut the bones in Lois's leg then screw them back together at a new improved angle!

Hating that idea, I sought another. Meanwhile, Lois favored that left hind leg more and more. Then I learned about an ACL treatment called Tightrope.

This is a much less extreme and invasive procedure. Basically two sets of two small holes are drilled into the bone near the knee joint through which a sturdy cord is threaded. This cord supports the joint; doing the job a fully functioning cruciate ligament does. I made an appointment with Dr Lanier to determine if this was an appropriate plan for Lois.

Dr L examined Lois and said he wasn't so sure it was an ACL tear. He couldn't feel the "shelf" you see. Physical manipulation of a joint sans intact ACL acts differently than a normal joint. A torn ACL creates an abnormal space or shelf. When the dog is fighting the manipulation it is difficult to feel the shelf.

We agreed that we'd sedate Lois so Dr Lanier could be sure of the diagnosis. If he found a shelf, he would perform the Tightrope.

Guess what? No shelf. No torn ACL. It turns out that Lois has arthritis! She has been favoring the left leg because there is a chunk of calcium in her knee that hurts when she moves it.

Dr. L gave Lois an injection of an anti inflammatory directly into the joint. He also prescribed some anti inflammatory medication to be taken orally. In addition, Lois has had three Laser treatments and will have three more in the next week.

Lois has improved enormously. She is back to her normal play routine. (We had stopped the fun for several weeks to rest the allegedly torn ligament). Lois runs and jumps with ease and glee. There is no sign of strain or pain in her leg anymore.

Yep. Say it with me...Wow!

Just imagine if we had proceeded with the bone cutting plan. I try not to think about it too often, for that thought is an ipecac.

Lois will be seven next month. That's middle aged for a big dog. She may need anti inflammatory medication in the future and perhaps some more Laser therapy. We will manage her arthritis. Being a middle aged gal myself, I will share my Glucosamine Chondroiton suppliments with Lois. Our exercise regimen will continue too.

I will be forever grateful to Dr Lanier.

info on Tightrope: http://www.warrenanimalclinic.com/tightrope.html

info on Laser: http://www.warrenanimalclinic.com/

Fluffy and the Snowman

2011-12-17T11:14:00.001-05:00

Appetite: A Measure of Temperment?

2011-12-13T10:56:00.003-05:00

My temperament is stirring the oatmeal here. This incomplete theory has been brewing in my mind for as long as I can remember. Critters with a good appetite are jollier. Chubby people are more cheerful than skinny ones. Call it the Santa effect, if you like.

I've revisited these childhood musings lately, in large part because of my dog Rose. Why? Because Rose has lost her appetite (she suffers from vestibular disease. See: It's Idiopathic, November 21st post) yet she is still jolly. She is a happy scrawny gal. So I am forced to rethink some things.

There is still some meat to the theory. It is the definitions that need modifying. The jolliness, the tendency toward bright expectation, is not a matter of body size, but of appetite. What appetite really means, is the matter to be better understood.

Because, just perhaps, appetite is about more than food. Appetite includes the affinity toward optimism and joy. It is the stuff of faith. Of gratitude. Of savoring the gifts we have and those to come. One with a good appetite is one who embraces life and all that life hands you. Even if you are a little dog who suddenly inexplicably feels dizzy, you know that life is good.

At this festive time of year, let us increase our appetite for gratitude. And let us remember this is the season of giving. And sharing.

Merry Christmas!

special thanks to Rose- for yet another life lesson

Fluffy and the Sign, (2)

2011-12-07T11:14:00.003-05:00

WARNING!

The following may be offensive to Political Correctness adherents and other ultra sensitive persons.

Fluffy and the Sign

2011-12-03T16:13:00.001-05:00

Some Things about Sharks

2011-11-30T10:00:00.008-05:00

This post is dedicated to my favorite actor, the late Robert Shaw. Recently, after re watching one of his shark movies, I got the urge to learn more about sharks to then share that information with my Resplendent Readers.

Viewing "The Deep" causes most people to remark that Jacqueline Bisset has pretty breasts. Yes, the wet tee shirt scene made that clear. Some people observe that Louis Gossett played a great villain. Indeed, he had that malignant charm that a bad guy needs to keep you gleefully rooting against him. What too many people fail to appreciate is Robert Shaw. (The man had sparkling blue eyes of a sublime twinkle and hue second only to those of my husband, The Handsome One).

In "The Deep" the Nick Nolte character had all sorts of diving accessories like an underwater camera and rubber shorts. The Robert Shaw character simply strapped a scuba tank on over his street clothes and jumped into the ocean. That is the sort of no nonsense manliness that gets my attention. Of course, that's what's fun about having a favorite actor. He tends to do things that please you.

So when are we going to talk about sharks, you ask?

Right now.

Fossils belonging to sharks have been found, believed to be 400 million years old, including a skeleton, skin and muscles. These fossils suggest sharks haven't changed much. Lots of fossil shark teeth have been found that look very much like the teeth of sharks living today.

Some Shark Facts

- they cannot swim backwards

- shark skin is smooth when rubbed from front to back, aerodynamically good, like the hull of a sail boat

- shark skin rubbed from back to front is rough. Smaller fish use shark skin as an emery to remove their own external parasites

- there are about 400 shark species identified so far

- sharks can identify the direction a smell is coming from by moving its head from side to side. (Much as mammals do with hearing)

- the mako shark can reach speeds of 46 mph

- most sharks can see in color

- shark teeth vary from little nubs to big serrated triangles depending on what food the species eats

- some foods that sharks eat: microscopic plankton, fish, whale carcasses, seals, dolphins, albatrosses,
sea turtles, stingrays, squid, crabs, sea urchins

- how they find food: chasing prey, ambush, scavenging, filter feeding

- the average shark eats roughly the equivalent of his own weight per month

- the age of a shark can be estimated by counting the growth rings in its spinal column

- sharks are slow growing. Generally, the longer lived the shark, the later in life it matures. Lifespans vary from 20-150 years/maturity achieved from 4-35 years.

Sharks are fish. There are not, however, bony fish like a perch or tuna. The shark is a cartilginous fish with a skeleton made of cartilage (a tough, flexible material also found in human joints, such as elbows and knees). Other cartilginous fish: rays and chimaeras. Cartilginous fishes account for less than 5% of all fishes.

Bony fishes have bony skeletons and scales on their skin. The shark's skin is also made up of scales but the scales are of harder stuff: tooth-like dermal deticle. This skin protects the shark much like armour chain-mail.

Shark Sense

hearing- acute, they are able to detect sound from several miles away

smell- more like taste, really. The shark has special receptor cells in the nostrils that act like taste buds to identify stuff in the water that flows over the receptor cells

vision- eyeballs much like most vertebrates. Sharks are able to see fairly well, especially in low light thanks to a mirror-like layer in each eye that boosts the available light by reflecting it back onto light sensitive cells in the eye

taste- taste buds are located in the throat and the lining of the mouth. The shark takes a bite of something, if it is deemed palatable, he swallows it. (Ideal foods are ones with a thick layer of high- energy fat, like a seal. Even an obese human isn't really worthwhile. This is why sharks usually spit people out after they bite them)

electroreception- the ability to detect electricity generated by other living things. A shark can sense an animal that is not moving and buried under the ocean bottom by only its breathing and heart beat

Shark Sex

Most sharks are loners so migration is usually necessary for mating to occur. Not a great deal is known about shark romance. What is known, in some species, a female shark, when ready to mate will emit a hormonal substance into the water. Males from miles around descend upon her. Demonstrations of masculine vigor follow, including fighting and bloodshed. The female chooses her suitor. Typically, her choice is the largest and most dominant male.

The male shark has two external reproductive organs known as claspers. (When not in use they are rolled up like a window shade and tucked in, in keeping with good aerodynamics).

Some species lay eggs, others, live birth. Gestation varies among species. The closest sharks come to child rearing is giving birth in a sheltered lagoon rather than in open sea.

sources:
Sharks by Mark Carwardine
The Shark Almanac by Thomas B. Allen

It's Idiopathic

2011-11-21T10:39:00.010-05:00

Lots of things happen in life that are unexpected. And lots of times, there is an unknown reason for things that happen. The most recent example: Rosebud's adventure into the vestibular.

Just shy of two weeks ago, Rose awakened in the early morning and vomited some yellow foam. Anybody who has ever lived with a dog has experienced yellow foam style vomit. It's usually not a big deal. You clean it up and everybody goes on with their day. Alas, on this morning, Rose followed up the vomit episode with a distressing display involving staggering and peculiar eye motions. In short, we feared that Rose had suffered a stroke.

Our veterinarian examined Rose. It wasn't a stroke. (There is some disagreement among veterinarians over whether or not dogs can even have strokes).  Diagnosis: Geriatric Vestibular Disease. The good news first: Rose is expected to recover, if not fully, then nearly fully.

What is Vestibular Disease?

The vestibular apparatus is located inside the head near the inner ear. The cochlea receives vibrations which are relayed to the brain by the vestibular nerve.  It is responsible for perceiving where the body is in relation to the earth. (You know, up, down, backwards, forwards, stationary or moving). The vestibular system helps us travel on uneven ground, follow moving objects with our eyes, navigate a staircase, catch a ball, and pirouette.

When things have gone kerflooey vestibularly, the victim feels dizzy, disoriented, sick to her stomach, the eyes zip back and forth (nystagmus), she might fall down...AND there's the head tilt.

Causes of Vestibular Disease

- middle ear infection
- brain tumor
- idiopathic (unknown)

Most cases are idiopathic and the dog recovers in a couple weeks, though the head tilt may remain.

Rose is doing better now. She is eating, for one thing. Not an enthusiastic eater under the best of circumstances, when she is nauseated, getting her to eat is no easy task. For the first few days, she refused all food but did drink water. Then I couldn't stand it anymore and pretty much forced finger fulls of baby food in her mouth. (Dang, she has strong jaws!).

We still have to watch out for her on the stairs. But she is able to navigate, more or less normally, everywhere else, in spite of the head tilt. Yes, her head is literally tilted to the left and thus her body tends to move in that direction. The first day she sort of walked in a circle. She got the hang of things better with practice, now she can walk, pretty nearly, a straight line.

Indeed, she is so much better now, that we've begun to make fun of the head tilt.

So goes things in life. Trouble begets fear and worry, then action. Before you know it, resolution, then back to regularity. Sometimes it's idiopathic.

sources:
www. veterinarypartner.com
Dog Owner's Home Veterinary Handbook, by James Giffin, MD & Liisa Carlson, DVM.
Dog Anatomy by Robert Kainer, DVM and Thomas McCracken, MS.

Breed Profile: Spinone Italiano

2011-11-14T11:14:00.005-05:00

The Spinone Italiano originated in the Piedmont region of Italy. Spinone is derived from pino, an Italian thorn bush. As you may guess, birds and small furry animals often hide in Pino bushes trying to avoid detection by gun dogs.

The Spinone is a versatile hunting dog, he can point, set and retrieve. He is solidly built with plenty of muscle and stamina to trot all day. His thick skin and rugged hair protects him from cold and difficult terrain.

The coat colors are: solid white, white and orange, orange roan with or without orange markings, white with brown markings, brown roan with or without brown markings, and chestnut roan with or without chestnut markings.

The eyebrows and beard are of longer and stiffer hair, this protects the face from rough brush and briers .

The Spinone is affectionate, playful, energetic, cheerful and mischievous. He loves to be with his family and is friendly to everybody. He is gentle and easy going, making him a fine friend to children and frail folks. Spinoni are good with other dogs and pets but beware of small pets, as his prey drive is strong.

The average life span of the Spinone is 12-14 years. The breed is believed to have been developed using Italian Setter, French Griffons and White Mastiff. The Spinone is 22-27 inches tall at the shoulder and weighs 62-82 pounds.

In World War II, Spinoni Italiani tracked German patrols. Italian art from the 15th and 16th century depicts dogs looking very much like the Spinone of today.

Spinone Manifesto

- I can point as well as a Pointer, only I do sans hyper

- I'm happy to find game for you but when we are through, I want to sleep inside with you

- I'm not stubborn, just intelligent

- if you don't have a sense of humor, I might annoy you (LOL)

Next Breed Profile: Shiba Inu!

see some nice pics at
http://www.akc.org/breeds/spinone_italiano/photos.cfm

sources: akc.org, Encyclopedia of Dog Breeds by D. Caroline Coile, Ph.D., Dog Fancy, March 2011 issue, The Shooting Man's Dog, by David Hudson

Fluffy and the Fire Hydrant

2011-11-09T16:10:00.001-05:00

Dogs Behaving Semi-Badly

2011-11-07T10:39:00.007-05:00

Is some bad behavior OK? Are there levels of bad behavior, so that some are only semi-bad? Or do we simply employ levels of tolerance for bad behavior?

And could it be that some bad behavior is somehow endearing?

To explore these questions, let us take, for example, Wilma.

When she was young, Wilma found it uproariously fun to remove
corncobs from the compost pile and place them in random areas

of the backyard. Not finding it all that hilarious, I informed her that

she was not to do that anymore. Meanwhile, the compost pile enjoyed an upgrade which included a lid. Wilma stopped playing with corn cobs.

However, she continued to make off with garden gloves. With impish glee, Wilma would lie in wait for me to remove my gloves to blow my nose or tuck in my shirt. Wilma knew my habit was to take off a glove and let it drop. So intent on having a naked hand, it could be three or four seconds before I returned my attention to the glove. This gave Wilma plenty of time to lunge in, snatch the glove, and precede to dance around the yard with it in her mouth- the equivalent of nah nah, Keep Away! ha ha. Eventually, my failure to be amused or chase her to get the glove back extinguished the glove robbing behavior.

Still, Wilma never fully lost the urge to take stuff that wasn't hers. She found an outlet for this desire in the bathroom wastebasket. When left alone at home, Wilma was given the run of the basement. Her crate was down there with a comfortable cushion and water bowl, the door left open. This gave Wilma options. Alas, sometimes she exercised her options by entering the bathroom and pulling used Kleenex out of the wastebasket. She didn't touch any other item in the wastebasket -only used facial tissue. She would then shred the tissue and spread it around on the floor in the area just outside the bathroom door.

Needless to say, this shredding of the Kleenex does not fall under the heading of Good Behavior. Indeed, it would not be exaggerating to say this was Bad Behavior. Still, whenever we'd come home to find the evidence that Wilma had been messing with dirty tissue, we never scolded her, nor did we ever make any effort to stop the bad behavior. (You know, like simply closing the bathroom door.) Instead, while gathering up the pieces of tissue, The Handsome One or and I would typically say something along the lines of, "Wilma, why do you do this yucky thing?!"

Perhaps this is an example of taking the good with the bad in those we love. (Or the good with the semi-bad).

The truth is, though Wilma passed away some sixteen years ago, I sometimes look wistfully at the bathroom wastebasket.

You know something else, more often than not, when I talk about Wilma, I refer to her as Saint Wilma. Either I am delusional or perhaps our loved ones are more endearing when they have semi-badness in their natures.

Real Crickets Don't Wear White Gloves

2011-11-01T09:58:00.012-04:00

An overwhelming number of Cricket species spend most of their time on or under ground. It's dirty down there in the dirt. Jiminy Cricket wouldn't stand a chance in the wild.

Nevermind cartoon characters right now. The real live cricket is quite an interesting character.

Crickets are insects, cousins to the grasshopper and cockroach. Insects in general, have six legs, an exoskeleton, antennae, eyes, jaws, wings, a digestive system, a nervous system, respiration system, and their bodies are separated into three parts, head, thorax and abdomen.

The cricket on the left is a male. The female is on the right. Notice the middle appendage on the female's rump. This is used to lay eggs. She shoves her oviposter into the ground (or into plant tissue) to deposit her eggs. The eggs are laid singly or in pods of 10-200.

Some Cricket Facts

- found everywhere except very cold places, such as Antartica

- life cycle: two or three generations a year in the South. One generation a year in the North: eggs or nymphs, overwinter in the soil and adults appear in the spring or summer.

- most active at night

- roughly 20,000 species

- larve (nymphs) pretty much resemble adults (rather like puppies resemble the dogs they become)

- some crickets are solitary, some live in colonies, or swarms

The most commonly seen crickets are Field Crickets. They are medium sized bugs, black or brown in color, with a stout body and small wings incapable of flight. There are however, other cricket species that are camouflaged to look like leaves or bark, stones or sand. Other crickets are near blind burrowers that never surface. Some crickets are brightly colored, signalling their distasteful or toxic nature to warn away would-be predators.

Cricket predators include: spiders, other insects, lizards, frogs and birds. The cricket's legs are designed for hopping to escape being eaten. Many crickets avoid prey status by spending the bulk of their time hiding in or under plants, in sidewalk cracks, and under the dirt.

At night they emerge to eat plant foliage, roots, dead plant and animal material, algae, mud and the microorganisms in mud.

Also at night the (usually male) cricket makes a sort of chirping sound using his stridulatory organs. These musical notes are for courtship (some species dance too!) and for territorial annoucements. The stridulation organs are located in vents on the bases of the fore-wings. When rubbed together, sound is produced.

The call of the male Snowy Tree Cricket is slower when the air is cool and is said to be a measure of temperature. Count the number of chirps in 15 seconds add 40, and you have the temperature in degrees Fahrenheit.

images: Bing, Audubon Pocket Guide: Familiar Insects and Spiders
sources: Enclycopedia of Insects edited by Christopher O'Toole,

Insects, A Golden Nature Guide

A Fluffy Halloween

2011-10-29T17:39:00.000-04:00

Introducing a New Feature!

2011-10-24T10:28:00.004-04:00

Fluffy the DogWalker comic strip debut right here at Pets and Other Critters!

A Bit about Eagles

2011-10-19T13:06:00.006-04:00

Eagles are designated under the Family Accipitridae along with Kites and Hawks.

Four eagle species, listed here in decending order by size:

Bald Eagle
Golden Eagle
White tailed Eagle
Steller's Sea-Eagle

Some Eagle Facts

-diurnal
-birds of prey with hooked bills and strong talons
-sexes have similar plummage
-males are smaller than females

The Golden Eagle is a rather solitary bird, rarely is it seen in flocks. During breeding, Goldens pair up and build nests on cliffs or in tall trees. Both mom and dad participate in incubation and feeding of the young. Incubation takes approximately 44 days. Chicks leave the nest at roughly 10 weeks.

Golden Eagles eat small mammals, snakes, birds and carrion. They are seen mainly in the Western US and Canada in mountainous and plains areas. They have solid brown plumage with golden wash on the head and neck and a band of white on the tail. Wingspan is 80-88 inches. Length (from the tip of the bill to the tip of the tail) is 30-40 inches.

The Bald Eagle has a distinctive white head and tail which does not develop until the bird is three or four years old. Prior to that, the juvenile, or sub adult, is mostly brown. Wingspan: 70-90 inches. Length: 31-37 inches.

The Bald Eagle's territory stretches thoughout the US and Canada. Their main food is fish, thus, they sometimes migrate depending on spawning patterns or when ice covers the water. Unlike the Golden Eagle, Bald Eagles gather in flocks during migration and other non breeding periods. Pairs stay together all year. Courtship includes soaring side by side, chasing, and sitting close together and preening each other. Copulation occurs at or near the nest site.

The nest and surrounding area, including water/feeding area is considered territory. The Eagles will guard it from other birds such as Crows and Ospreys who may attempt to eat the eaglets. Though the Bald Eagle prefers more room, a mile or two, they will tolerate other Eagles nesting as close as 150 yards- which is most common when there is good fishing nearby.

Two to four eggs are laid (two most commonly) in a large nest high atop a tree or cliff. Nests are six feet in diameter, 4 to 10 feet deep, made of sticks and branches, sod, grasses and seaweed. The Bald Eagles will often bring chunks of evergreen or deciduous green leaves into the nest to eat. It is believed that nutrients from the green material are needed particularly during chick rearing.

The parents take turns incubating the eggs in 1 to 3 hour shifts. The young hatch in 34-36 days, each several days apart. During the first two weeks, the parents both brood (sitting near the chick to keep it warm). Both parents feed the youngsters. After tearing off a bite-sized piece of meat, the parent puts it directly into the chick's bill (no regurgitation required!). Feeding continues until the babies leave the nest.

Eaglets back up to the edge of the nest and shoot their feces out. There is usually a white wash surrounding the nest, which by the way, will most likely be used again and again for years. The parents keep building on top of it, with fresh materials. As Bald Eagles can live up to twenty years, sometimes the nest becomes too heavy for the tree.

At 6 weeks, the babies have grayish down covering their bodies. During the second 6 weeks, feathers develop. At 10-12 weeks, the babies begin to practice hunting. They leave the nest a few weeks after that.

White-tailed Eagle's range in in northern Eurasia and Greenland. Steller's Sea-Eagle is found in northeastern Asia.

sources:

Cornell Lab of Ornithology, allaboutbirds.org

Golden Eagle head shot, Bald Eagle hunting: Wikipedia

Field Guide to the Birds of North America, National Geographic Society

Guide to Bird Behavior by Donald & Lillian Stokes

Encyclodedia of North American Birds by Michael Vanner

Blame it on the Bandersnatch

2011-10-15T11:15:00.006-04:00

There was a song playing over and over in my head. Sometimes when I have a song in my head it's naked lyrics. Sometimes it's with full orchestra accompaniment. This time I had orchestra and Eydie Gorme's voice too.

Blame it on the Bossa Nova with it's magic spell
Blame it on the Bossa Nova that he did so well
All it took was just one little dance
and then it ended up a big romance
Blame it on the Bossa Nova
the dance of love

For as long as I can remember, the remedy for a song stuck in my head has been the same. Sing a partially remembered song I learned in grade school music class.

The Mademoiselle from something something parlez-vous
The Mademoiselle from something something parlez-vous
The Mademoiselle and blah blah blah
the Mademoiselle and la la la
Rinky dinky parlez- vous

It almost always works. By the time I hit the Rinky Dinky line for the second or third time, the song that was stuck in my head is banished. Curiously, it is not replaced by the Mademoiselle song. Why? Maybe it's because I don't understand French and don't really know what the song is about. Perhaps I believe it'll work, so it does. Could be that it's happy magic.

Now and then, however, it doesn't work. For some dark reason the Rinky Dinky doesn't erase the tape in my head so I must try something else.  I've tried singing other songs. Other songs don't work. If the Mademoiselle song fails, another song will not work either.

Forcing myself to think about other stuff sometimes works but - and this is sort of neat- what I think about must be novel. I can't simply fill my head with say, loving thoughts of The Handsome One. I can't proudly recall past successes on the softball field. Imaginative interpretations of cloud formations are an effective strategy.  Wild conspiracy theories work. Lots of different ideas have proved successful in removing the song. But they must be absolutely new ideas.

Absent the novel element, I'll just end up thinking about something with the unwelcome song in the background. This is an improvement, but not a solution. Thus, I must come up with a completely unique thought.

My yard, as it so often does, offered inspiration. From the yard sprung a novelty.

There was a hole in the ground in the grass right next to a stepping stone. A spray of dirt fanned from one side of the hole. It was not a terribly large hole, thus the likely culprit was a ground squirrel. I already had a trowel in my hand. (I'd been picking up after my dogs). So I filled the hole back up with the trowel and gave it a couple of good firm stomps with my foot.

The following day, as usual, I was patrolling the yard, armed with the trowel. Back at that stepping stone, the hole had been re dug. The spray of dirt now surrounded the hole, as though punctuating the message: this hole is here to stay!  Feeling vaguely uneasy, I glanced around. Then I crouched down and peered into the hole, half expecting to be struck in the face with whatever this hole dweller used as a weapon. It was at this moment that I recalled a really cool vocabulary word.

bandersnatch    (BAN-der- snach)  noun
-an imaginary wild animal of fierce disposition

Suppose a bandersnatch dug that hole? There may be a bandersnatch living under my back yard. Perhaps there are a series of tunnels running under the yards in the entire neighborhood. Suppose there are dozens, even hundreds of bandersnatches coordinating some nefarious plot?

Eydie Gorme' and the Bossa Nova have left my head.

I carry a larger trowel these days.

source: dictonary.com

Orthopedic Adventures

2011-10-09T16:12:00.006-04:00

You don't limp for a change of pace. You don't limp to gain attention. You limp for a reason, especially if you are an active enthusiastic sincere dog, like Lois. Something hurts, that is the reason for keeping one foot just off the floor while standing. From a prone position you carefully, awkwardly arrange your feet under you before raising. When you walk on stairs, you deliberately place each foot. When you adapt such a regimen, something must hurt.

Lois is a large breed dog. No matter how careful the breeding, there is always the specter of hip dysplasia lurking in big dogs. Thus, the initial conversation with Lois's vet zoomed into that scary territory. Naturally, as the gimp was mild, we agreed to treat the matter conservatively. Little point in signing her up for a hip replacement right away.  First things first and all that.

Lois began taking Glucosamine Chondroitin. I take the stuff myself. Vitamins for the joints, according to Dr. Cutey, who did a knee arthroscopy on my husband, The Handsome One. (But that is another orthopedic adventure.)

A couple months on the joint vitamins did nothing to improve Lois's hind limb issues.   Back to the vet for Xrays. Great news! Lois has incredible hips, practically perfect! More great news! Lois's spine is spectacular! However, there is an oh, oh. Her kneecap has this little something or other attached to it. It looks rather like a cookie crumb. Whatever it is, it isn't supposed to be there, at least not ideally. Other than this crumb and her gimp, there is nothing testing "wrong" with Lois. Off we go to a specialist. I swallowed hard because this is an Orthopedic Surgeon. Surgeons tend to do surgery.

Upon seeing Lois, the Orthopedic Veterinarian positively gushed. Being a Canadian, the doctor explained, she learned to read in the company of an Old English Sheepdog. Evidentially, the Canadian school system employs OES's as teachers aids. And why not? I can't think of a sweeter breed to sit next to a brat, er, child while he practices his Dick, Jane, Spot and Fluff.

Anyhow, enough digression. Back to our tale about a tail-less dog named Lois.

Lois has mild muscle atrophy on the left side due to favoring that limb. Her gait shows a slight lameness of the left rear leg. When manipulating the left leg, Dr. Ortho found it less flexible than the right leg. That crumb on the Xray is a touch of arthritis.  All evidence points to a tear in the cruciate ligament.   Dr. Ortho says it's about a 30% tear. Surgery isn't needed until it's torn 50% or more. Alas, most likely more tearing will occur.

This is where the nice specialist really displayed her surgeon's soul. She beamed as she explained that there are two surgeries available for repairing a cruciate ligament! One involves putting in an artificial ligament to replace the torn one. This surgery sometimes doesn't work because it's hard to firmly attach the faux ligament to the bone! It often becames unattached, you see. This surgery, therefore, is best for toy dogs who lead sedate, sedentary lives. Then there's another surgery that "puts fly ball champions back in competition". This surgery involves cutting the bone to change the angle of the knee joint which creates a newer stronger leg!  Cutting the bone. Attaching a metal plate. Screwing the metal plate into the bone.

But we don't need to talk about that anymore. In fact, I would very much like to never talk about it again.

Meanwhile, we can hope for some healing of the ligament with rest. Poor Lois. No joyful running. No chasing her friend Mabel around the yard. No jumping to catch a ball. She may walk on the leash. At least there is that. For one month, we keep Lois on the sidelines. To heal. Still, she may heel. Oh please, may she heal.

Breed Profile: Scottish Deerhound

2011-10-06T10:59:00.007-04:00

The Scottish Deerhound looks very much like a Greyhound with shaggy hair. As the name suggests, the Deerhound's original use was to hunt deer. The Deerhound is larger of bone and heavier than the Greyhound. This speed, endurance and strength enabled the Deerhound to catch and pull down a stag.

Old drawings and photos show that the Deerhound has changed little over centuries. The Deerhound is 28- 30 inches tall (at the shoulder) and weighs 80-100 pounds. Like all sight hounds, he is built to run. Many Deerhounds excel at Lure Coursing. At home, it is best to have a fenced in yard, as the Deerhound may take a bead on a squirrel or rabbit and forget about everything else.

The Deerhound's coat is wiry, harsh, shaggy and roughly 3-4 inches long (ideal for a cold damp climate like Scotland). It is a low maintenance coat requiring no trimming. A quick brushing once or twice a week and a bath now and then is adequate. The Deerhound comes in a variety of colors: black, dark blue-gray, gray, brindle, yellow, sandy-red, and red-fawn with black points. The most commonly seen colors, however, are the darker ones.

The Scottish Deerhound is a faithful companion to his family. Toward strangers, his attitude is best described as politely aloof.

Deerhound Manifesto

-I am hardy enough to live outdoors but I'd rather be inside with my family
-if you want a big watchdog, get a German Shepherd or a Tibetan Mastiff
-I love to chase critters but will refrain from chasing those small critters who are members of my family

Next Breed Profile: Spinone Italiano!

some nice pics at
http://www.akc.org/breeds/scottish_deerhound/photos.cfm

sources:

The Scottish Deerhound by E. Weston Bell

Scottish Deerhound Club of America

Encyclopedia of Dog Breeds by D. Caroline Coile, Ph.D.

Dog Breeds by Juliette Cunliffe

Malcom Strikes Again

2011-09-29T10:53:00.007-04:00

Yes, Malcom. That irrepressible, indecipherable Tortoise. Just because we've lived together for over thirty years, doesn't mean I understand him. So naturally, I continue to speculate wildly about his motivations.

Malcom's enclosure is located in my office. Malcom himself is all of four feet away from me as I sit at my desk. Indeed, at this very moment, were he not asleep, he would be staring fireballs into the back of my head.

Critters like Malcom need exercise. It's easy to forget that because Tortoises have a phlegmatic quality. Unlike say, a ferret. The lanky animated ferret simply looks ready for action. Still, Tortoises are made to move, albeit, slowly. It is therefore true that Malcom regularly moves about inside his enclosure. He doesn't do laps around and around or back and forth. He moves until he hits the wall, quite literally. Then he hits the wall again and again. Bumph, thunk. His feet make a sort of grinding sound in the pea pebbles that cover the enclosure's floor. Malcom's workouts are noisy.

Picture it, you are at your desk reading or writing or doing something that requires concentration and right in the next cubicle, so to speak, there is a persistent thump scrape thumpking. This goes on and on until you want to scream or run out of the room. You sigh and return to your task. But the beating of Malcom's shell against the glass persists. Now all you want to do is grab Malcom and throw him out the window.

It is with great shame that I admit these thoughts. Even greater is the shame at the number of times I have had these bad violent urges. Happily, I am neither insane nor evil. Malcom remains unharmed- even while he continues his efforts to drive me mad by thummmkk, scraaak, scrape, bummnk.

For years, Malcom has been working to drive me out of my mind. He alternates between silently staring at me with something that is either bland or malevolent, and hurling his shell against the wall causing a sharp yet dull sound with the beat of a slightly off kilter metronome.

For more on Malcom, see past posts:
True Summer (6-10-11)
Long Lasting Pets (4-27-11)

images: http://www.bing.com/

The Wisdom of the Litter Box

2011-09-22T11:03:00.006-04:00

We don't really want to talk about the litter box, but we're going to anyway. Let us indulge in a bit of cat scatology, for the greater good.

Yes, the litter box is to a cat what a toilet is to a human being. At least that is the hoped for situation. Cats are fastidious about their personal habits. Once they learn to "go" in the box they don't forget. When a cat suddenly stops using the box or misses the target, something is going on that must be addressed.

Why is Kitty failing to observe proper elimination protocol?

There are a number of reasons. Here are the most likely culprits:

Illness

While not an illness, there may be age related issues such as arthritis, at play. Stiff joints make for less dexterity. A different style box with lower sides may help the older cat maintain accuracy.

Other physical reasons for missing the target are illnesses such as bladder stones, urinary tract infection or diabetes. Your veterinarian can help you sort that out.

Negative Association

Perhaps the litter box is in the laundry room. One day, Socks is minding his own business taking care of business, when the spin cycle starts. The rugs inside the washer gravitate to one side of the cylinder; thump thump thump. Suddenly, the litter box is a scary place to be.

Maybe the weekend guests caused Tabby angst. Remember that strange youngster in the group? The one who seemed to vanish at intervals, you'd see him only in the periphery, lurking, furtively poking around? Let's not speculate too deeply into what the little weirdo may have done in and around the litter box.

Stressful Changes

A new cat joined the household and suddenly Fluffy must share the litter box. Your best bet is to offer enough litter boxes for everyone.

That different brand of litter that you tried because it was on sale? It could be that Tigger doesn't like the smell or the texture or your audacity in making a change without consulting him. New litter is best introduced slowly, little by little, beginning with adding about ten percent to the total mass of the old familar litter.

Other problems in litter box routine may be due to negligent clean up. If there are too many clumps in the box, Mr. Boots may decide there isn't room for his latest effort. Scoop frequently. (You flush every time you go, right?)

Sex/Communication

A cat looking for love may use marking (squirting urine around) to spread the word, so to speak, of his or her availability. This is something in the hormones and arguably not bad cat behavior, just natural desire. Spaying or neutering usually puts the kibosh on lust and with it the urge to mark.

Other reasons for marking involve territory. An indoor cat may see a cat outside the window and want to establish his domain. A dash of urine on the living room drapes is one way of expressing ownership.

Sometimes when a new cat or dog or person has joined the household, a cat may pee on the carpet to relieve the unpleasant feelings of insecurity. You might say, he snaps. In time, he will, most likely, grow accustomed to these new resident critters and return to correct potty habits.

Adding a scratching post or two can help Puss Puss blow off a little steam while engaging in a more appropriate style of marking.

And, just because, buy him a new toy. Play with him. Pass the Cat Nip.

sources:
PetSitters World, September/October 2011
Warren Animal Clinic, Warren, MI
http://www.veterinarypartner.com/Content.plx?P=A&S=0&C=0&A=2457

Vulture Culture

2011-09-16T11:09:00.005-04:00

Scavenging is their specialty and vultures are extraordinary scavengers. The vulture has keen eyesight and excellant sense of smell. This aids in finding dead critters to dine on. Vultures are fairly heavy birds, which is useful in chasing other scavengers such as coyotes or jackals away from a carrion feast. Various species of vulture possess different characteristics designed for the food they eat. For example, some vultures have super strong bills, the better to rip tendons and sinew off a carcass. Other vultures have long necks that make it convenient to reach deep inside of a dead animal and pluck out some tasty innards. Still other vultures eat the bones of an animal. Large bones are dropped from great heights to break them up for easier swallowing. These birds have amazingly strong stomach acids to do the digesting.

Most Vultures eat dead things. However, some eat insects and the inside material of eggs. To crack a small egg, the bird will pick it up and drop it. If it is a larger egg, the vulture will repeatedly drop a stone on the egg to crack the shell.

Vultures rarely flap their wings and are able stay aloft on wind currents for hours. Many vultures gather in groups to rest, as well as while soaring. Some vultures work together with other (vulture) species to find dead stuff to eat. They then share the find.

Some Vulture Facts
-they are found in North and South America, Africa, Europe and Asia
-22 different species
-male and female look similar
-they lack a syrinx (the body part most birds use to sing with)
-mostly quiet, but occasionally hiss and wheeze
-vulture fossils have been found along side of mastodons
-they lay their eggs on the bare ground or in a hollow log
-largest vulture has a wingspan of 12 feet and weighs 26 pounds
-many vultures squirt urine onto their legs to keep cool
-can eat as much as 20% of their body weight
-feet designed for walking, no talons

What is the difference between a Vulture and a Condor? And where does the Buzzard fit in?

Most vultures from Europe, Africa and Asia are decended from birds of prey such as eagles. Those found in the Americas are from the same line of ancestry as storks. These similar birds coming from separate roots are considered examples of divergant evolution. The difference between a vulture and a condor appears to be a secret known only to experts.

As for buzzards: that is a charming colloquial term for condors and vultures originating from the USA.

sources:
Condors and Vultures by David Houston
Encyclodedia of North American Birds by Michael Vanner

The Perils of Positive Training

2011-09-05T07:58:00.007-04:00

The philosophy of positive training for dogs has been around for long enough, that most people have heard of it. Never say no! Reward, never punish! Maintain a positive attitude at all times! Commands are stated briefly and cheerfully (or with a merry click of a clicker)! Keep lessons short and fun!

Before long it begins to sound like one of those syrupy slogans that have infiltrated our Consciousness. The Power of Positive Thinking! Accentuate the Positive, Eliminate the Negative! If it Feels Good Do It- oh wait, maybe not that one. Turn On, Tune In, Drop Out! (Definitely not that one).

Please don't think I'm advocating the Put the Dog's Nose in It school of training. I am not. I also am, most assuredly, not a strict adherent to the Positive school. The reason is very simple. I live here in real life. And the truth about reality is that sometimes you must say no. In the real world you cannot always set things up so that your dog is good. Naturally, you avoid trouble when you can. That's why, when he was a puppy, you put him in his crate while you took a shower. You didn't leave him in the kitchen hoping he would take a nap rather than chew on the baseboards. Or you put up the baby gate to keep him out of the room before you fill the table with forbidden food. Alas, in the real world sometimes you forget to put up the baby gate. You are rushed because the guests are due and you aren't dressed yet.

Your dog tries to take a taste off the buffet table. Is this really the time to redirect him to a toy? Real life rules! A firm loud NO will get his attention faster than, "here my darling, have a nice pull toy". You want the dog to stop before he dismantles hours of labor and ruins the dinner party before the guests have a chance to. Besides, who really believes that gentle words detailing the wonder of the Nylabone are going to be more attractive to your dog than Pigs in a Blanket arranged in a circle? Startle him! Break his concentration from the thing he may not have! Stop him before he does the bad thing. Say NO.

When he removes himself from the platter of good things meant for others, then you praise him and give him the Kong filled with peanut butter. He'll notice it is a lesser treat. More importantly, he'll notice that you, his Master, forbid him the people platter. That's real life for you. And for your dog.

Believe me, your dog won't stop loving you just because you used a non positive word and stern tone to enforce good manners. He will not suffer damage to his self esteem because he was exposed to the negative forces of NO.

To me, positive training means reward him when he does what you taught him to do. It also means don't be so stuck on positive that you fail to be adamant about correcting behavior that is not in keeping with the rules. And accept that sometimes the only way a dog learns a rule is by breaking it. And when a rule gets broke, it is you who must act. Remember Dale Carnegie's First Principle: Don't criticize, condemn or complain. (Just kidding). Seriously, train your dog with kindness. But don't sugar coat it.

Breed Profile: Australian Shepard

2011-08-30T10:30:00.008-04:00

The origin of the Australian Shepard is not Australia. Some say the breed was developed in the United States, some say Spain. What we do know, is that the Australian Shepard's instincts for herding and guarding were used to develop the breed for use as an overall farm worker. Today the Aussie still works on the farm.

The Australian Shepard's work ethic also translates to talented fly ball competitors, rally and obedience champions, as well as eager companions for assorted activities. The Aussie needs physical exercise and mental challenge, thus is best suited for an owner who would rather participate in Dog Dancing, than sit and watch Dancing with the Stars.

The Aussie is medium sized, weight in the 45-60 pound range, height 18-23 inches at the shoulder. The coat consists of a thick undercoat and a silky outer coat. Shedding occurs heavily in spring and fall, and quite a bit all year. That pretty waterproof coat comes in assorted colors: Blue or Red Merle (dark blotches over a lighter background of the same color), Black, Red, Black and Tan (the main colors are accompanied by white trim on the face, legs and chest).

The Australian Shepherd has no tail. Usually they're born bobbed, though some rouge Aussies are born with a tail which is usually docked in puppyhood. Being tailless does not mean you can't tell when an Aussie is pleased to see you. He makes that clear by wagging his entire hind end.

Like most breeds with guarding instincts, Aussies are loyal to their family and leery of strangers.

The Aussie Manifesto

-I'm not hyper; I simply have stamina to spare.
-It's not so much that I can outwit you, I just have a nimble mind.
-Sometimes I can't resist herding things. This means adults, children, assorted pets, and sometimes even toys, run the risk of being rounded up.

Next Breed Profile: Scottish Deerhound!

sources:
The Essential Australian Shepherd by Wiley Publishing

Dog Fancy Magazine, January 2010

some nice pics
http://www.akc.org/breeds/australian_shepherd/photos.cfm

Critters with Eight Legs

2011-08-23T11:15:00.008-04:00

It could happen to you.

You're strolling down a garden path or sidewalk when suddenly you walk into a Spider Web. As you desperately try to get the thin sticky yuck off off you, consider who put it there.

OK. There probably aren't Giant Spiders building webs with human prey in mind. Still, I've gotten spider silk in my hair on my arms enough times to wonder about it. So I did a little research on Spiders.

The biggest spider eats birds, so human beings becoming Spider Chow is not very likely. (We'll leave that scenario to the movies).

As most people know, Spiders are not insects. Insects have six legs, Spiders have eight. Spiders are of the class Arachnida which includes other eight legged creatures with exoskeletons, for instance: mites, ticks and scorpions. Spiders are categorized still further based on their various structures and behaviors -into some 38,000 species.

Some Spider Facts:

-found everywhere, except possibly, Antarctica and the Ocean
-life span 1-2 years (an exception: female Tarantula's life span is 10-20 years)
-most spiders have 8 eyes, but some have as few as 2
-legs are used for locomotion, taste, sensing objects for navigation, and sensing vibration
-range in size from 2 millimeters to the size of a small pizza
-typical litter size: 100
-venom is mainly used to subdue prey, only a few species have venom that can harm mammals

The Spider Body

The body of the Spider is made up of two main parts: the Cephalothorax (head and thorax) and the Opisthosoma (abdomen). The Cephalthorax contains the eyes, mouth, fangs, brain, poison glands, stomach and legs. The Opisthosoma houses the heart, digestive tract, reproductive organs, lungs and silk glands. The two sections are attached by a small waist, or Pedicel.

There are many variations in Spider appearance but they all have this basic framework. Some Spiders are hairy, some are not. Some are bland in color, some quite garish. Some species are able to change color for camouflage allowing them to blend into such backgrounds as leaves, tree bark and bird droppings.

Baby Spiders and the Creation of Them

Male and female Spiders live apart. When it's mating time, the male finds the female usually via Phermones. Sometimes the male is much smaller than the female and she barely notices him when he inserts his seed. Male Spiders don't have a penis. The male transfers sperm from his testes to his palp (finger like appendage near the mouth). Then, when he finds a willing (or indifferent) female, he inserts the sperm. Sometimes the male is at risk of being killed either before, during, or after the event.

Many Spider mothers build a silk sack around their eggs and guard the sack from predators. When the babies hatch they eat their egg, then cut their way out of the silk sack. Some Spider moms allow the babies to ride on her back for a week or so. At that point, the babies molt and go out alone. The molt only happens to youngsters. Because the exoskeleton is stiff, it must be shed to allow for growth. Some Spider moms will regurgitate food for the babies, some moms will offer up their bodies for her children's final feeding before they must fend for themselves.

Webbage

Not all Spiders spin webs. The web silk is formed inside the Spider's body and projected out through a spinnerette located in the abdomen. Silk comes in different strengths (sort of like fishing line does).

When we think of webs, we usually envision the orb/symmetrical design (like Charlotte's). Spiders employ other ways of webbage, such as: blanket, clump, scaffold, hammock, funnel. Other Spiders don't use a web to capture prey, they hunt using stealth, ambush, diving underwater, bungee jump using a silk thread, or steal food from another Spider's web. To avoid getting stuck in webs, Spiders walk on their tip toes or stay on the non sticky strands (remember there are different "grades" of silk, some are non stick).

That webbage you walk into on a garden path, where it appears that places to begin and end a web are several feet apart? Most likely, it is a Spider that uses a single line or two, like a tight rope. The Spider is able to catch insects using a narrower trap. The theory is, the Insect (or you) cannot detect the single line as well as a cluster of lines, making it more difficult to avoid.

Spiders sometimes hang out just after a molt, for protection. Their bodies are vulnerably soft for a while, before the exoskeleton hardens.

They also hang around in search of victims. (boowaaraahh!)

sources:

The Natural History of Spiders by Ken and Rod Preston-Mafham

The World of the Spiders by Adrienne Mason

Here's a Cute Critter!

2011-08-17T09:44:00.009-04:00

This is a Speothos venaticus, or bush dog. These rarely seen dogs live in rainforest and wet savannah areas. On average, bush dogs are 12 inches tall at the shoulder and weigh 15 pounds. They have webbed feet, and are good swimmers. They dine mainly on small mammals.

Bush Dogs live in small packs. After a gestation of 67 days, the litter arrives with from 1 to 6 pups. Puppies remain with mother till 8 weeks of age, though some stick by her longer -up to 5 months.

for more information
http://www.brazilianfauna.com/bushdog.php
http://www.detroitzoo.org/
http://www.canids.org/species/Speothos_venaticus.htm

Can you hear me, Rose?

2011-08-12T08:47:00.011-04:00

Five years ago, in people years, Rose was in her mid forties.

In a couple of months, Rose will celebrate her fourteenth birthday. This puts her, in people years, somewhere in her seventies.

Rose has a blue tinge to her eyes now, suggestive of cataracts. She moves a bit stiffly these days, suggestive of arthritic joints. And she just might be losing her hearing. Is she deaf as a post?

Don't know for sure. One thing for sure, when Rosebud sleeps, she does it heavy. Of course, sometimes dogs sleep deep. Lately, Rose's sleep is consistently in the deep end. The sound of, "do you want to go outside?" no longer snaps hers out of slumber. Indeed, verbal entreaties do not awaken Rose at all. She must be shaken awake (or rocked awake, when she is sleeping in one of her favorite places: a green lazy boy chair).

When she does wake up, it isn't clear whether she is heading to the door because she heard the Outside Announcement or because she is eager to join the dog procession. When it's time to come back inside, Rose doesn't respond as quickly to, "let's come in house," as she used to.

Rose has always been inquisitive and curious. You know, nosey.  Rose maintains an interest in critters that inhabit the yard. Sometimes she gets so caught up in the chase she loses track of time. In her younger days, I would have to call her an extra time to break her focus on the fauna. I've always considered Rose's vermin hobby part of her sassy badness. Sassybad means stubborn, independent- not immediately doing what you're told. In other words, the very spunk that makes a dog a companion and friend to be proud of. Needless to add, these qualities can also be irritating.  In a close relationship, you discover that the infuriating stuff about someone you love is often the most endearing.

Now adays when I urge Rose back inside after she has had a session of critter hide and seek, speaking to her doesn't cut it. I must move into her line of vision and beckon with my hand. She then trots in step behind me and into the house.

Though Rose is the kind of gal who looks you in the eye, it seems that lately, she watches me far more than before. (Either that, or I'm studying her so much these days, that she's staring at me staring at her). Then again, she may be looking for cues and clues because she can't hear.

Yes, I'm pretty sure that Rose is pretty deaf. This isn't too big of a deal. We have plenty of nonverbal ways to communicate, and we can develop more as needed.  And it gives me a glorious excuse to stomp on the stairs! We don't want to startle Rose; I'm sending her a warning message via vibration.

When we take a moment together, just us, I stroke her and whisper, "Rosebud". Her eyes still melt into mine with a love I can only hope to be worthy of. Can she hear me? Maybe she can't hear with her ears anymore. Rosebud hears me with her heart.   She always has.

sources: Dog Owner's Home Veterinary Handbook by James Giffin, MD & Liisa Carlson, DVM

Ramon has a Clubfoot

2011-08-06T16:59:00.009-04:00

Just when you think you've got it all figured out, something goes awry!

With great joy, I've been keeping birds for years. My birds live in a draft free room, in clean cages with plenty of room to fly, with clean water to drink, fresh food, the finest seed, mineral grit, a variety of perches and swings, the companionship of other birds, toys...

I'm doing everything right- or so I thought. Turns out, bad stuff happens, even under ideal conditions.

Somehow, while going about his affairs, secure in his cage, Ramon injured his foot.

The most likely reason for a caged bird to hurt his foot is due to nails that are too long. The bird catches his nail on something, panics, tries to pull himself free, fights and flutters, causing injury.

Riddled with guilt for possibly failing in regards to Ramon's pedicure needs, I checked his nails. They were not particularly long. While we're on the subject, trimming a Zebra Finch's nails is pretty easy. (The hardest part is catching the bird). You can use the same type of nail clipper you use on your own nails. Hold the bird firmly but not too tightly. (The Finch Aviary website has a nice instructional video on nail trimming).   The nail's quick is usually visible, leaving it unlikely that you will cut into it and cause bleeding. If you do, a little dab of corn starch on the spot stops the bleeding.

Let's talk about catching a Finch.  The most common way to do it is to stick your hand in the cage and grab the bird. (Think Silvester and Tweety. But strive to be more gentle about it than Silvester). It may be possible to train a Finch to jump on your finger like a Parakeet. I've never tried.  I simply reach in the cage and trap him in my hand.  He'll fly around trying to escape being caught. Eventually, he'll tire and the flying becomes slower making it easier to catch him.

As you've guessed, I did catch Ramon to examine his foot. There was some swelling but no blood. Speaking of blood, Sue of Royal Bird Haven advises using diluted peroxide to clean a foot wound. Sue further advises that if the skin on the foot is dry or chapped appearing, apply olive oil. As for Ramon's foot, the precise injury was unclear. Torn nail? Nope.  Broken bone? Maybe. Close examination and gently feeling leg and toes suggested that there was probably not a broken bone. It doesn't make sense to slap a split on there just in case. Or does it? I didn't.  I kept an eye on Ramon. For the next few days, while at rest, he sometimes held the injured foot aloft. However, he regularly used the stricken foot when perching on the edge of the food bowl, standing on the grit dish or when bathing.

OK, Ramon most likely did not hurt his foot because of over-long nails. Other reasons for a caged bird injury: something in the cage. I took inventory. Any splinters or gouges in the perches? No. Chips or cracks on the grit dish or water bowl? No. (That's right, for my birds's grit and water, I use a bread plate and small side bowl from the beautiful china set I inherited from my grandmother). Any rough spots or dents in the cage bars? No. Problems with the swing, the food bowls, the clothes pin that holds the fresh greens? No. Everything appeared to be in tip top shape.

What else could explain the damage to Ramon's foot? A disagreement with a cage mate that lead to fisticuffs? Let's see, Ramon shares his home with Lupe, a young female. Following the untimely death of his mate, Mary, Lupe was introduced to Ramon. In short order, they were sitting close together grooming each other. Lupe is less demure than Mary was. Even so, it seems unlikely that there was a scrap between Ramon and Lupe. And even less likely that a dustup ended with physical harm to Ramon, the larger of the two.

It's been a few weeks now, since the mystery incident involving Ramon's foot. He no longer holds the foot aloft when at rest. He moves around on both feet like everything is just dandy. There is no denying though, the foot doesn't look the same as it used to. Unable to explain how Ramon came about his unfortunate talipe, I can only shrug and say, Ramon has a clubfoot.

Like the scar on G.I. Joe's face, my mangled foot is a reflection of my manly lifestyle.

sources: http://www.finchaviary.com/,
Royal Tropical Fish and Bird Haven, Royal Oak, MI

On Critters Tall

2011-08-01T15:47:00.004-04:00

Giraffes are herbivorous mammals found in Central and South Africa. The giraffe is a ruminant, which means he has a four chambered stomach and vomits up food to rechew. You know, they chew their cud. Favorite cud: Acacia leaves. The giraffe's long neck allows him to easily reach greenery in tall trees. Remarkably, that long neck has the same number of vertebrae as the short necked human: seven.

Some Giraffe Facts

-average male (bull) height (measured to the horn tip): 18 feet
-average female (cow) height: 14 feet
-bull weight: 1800-4300 pounds
-cow weight: 1200-2600 pounds
- gestation: 15 months
- top speed: 35 mph
- average lifespan: 25 years
- tongue length: 21 inches
- enemies: lion, hyena and leopard

Giraffes aren't herd animals in the same way as, say, elephants or wildebeest. Groups of giraffes vary from as few as six to as many as forty members. The cows often create a group when their calves are young, taking turns feeding while the others baby sit. Bull giraffes aren't involved much, hands on - so to speak, other than in mating.

Cows give birth standing up, which means the baby's arrival is a rough one. He quite literally drops in. In good giraffe tradition, the calf stands up quickly and within 15 minutes is walking. Babies are about 6 feet tall at birth and weigh 150 pounds. One year later they are 12 feet tall.

Both males and females have horns, which are formed from ossified cartilage. The females have tuffs or hair on top of the horns, males are bald.

Nobody knows for sure, but it is believed that giraffes cannot swim. (Of course, Bumblebees aren't supposed to be able to fly either, so this is one of those nifty mysteries that we can speculate wildly about should we wish to do so).

Giraffes are not highly vocal but they aren't silent either. Males make a loud coughing sound during courtship. Females whistle to call to their young. Calves bleat, moo and mew. Miscellaneous giraffe vocalizations include grunts, snorts, hisses and flute-like sounds.

One species of Acacia tree germinate only after seeds pass through a giraffe's digestive track.

sources: http://www.nationalgeographic.com/, Tall Blondes by Lynn Sherr

Breed Profile: Cavalier King Charles Spaniel

2011-07-26T14:56:00.006-04:00

The Cavalier King Charles Spaniel is a toy breed that combines the hunting spirit of a spaniel with the soothing lap dog style of a companion animal. The typical Cavalier is 12-13 inches tall at the shoulder and weighs 13-18 pounds.

In other words, bigger than a baby Robin but smaller than a Mastiff.

The breed was named for King Charles II. The Cavalier was added years later when the breed was revived with an emphasis on the Cavalier line. That line stressed a longer nose and "old fashioned" style, as seen in this painting by Sir Edwin Landseer.

The King Charles spaniel was originally bred to hunt small game. Today, he is still quite capable of pointing, flushing and retrieving. Many Cavaliers are also accomplished in agility, tracking, obedience, lure coursing and therapy work.

The coat is silky and of medium length. Trimming is not required. Cavaliers come in many colors: Chestnut (red) and White, Tricolor (black, tan, white), Ruby, and Black and Tan.

Cavalier Manifesto:

- I like to cuddle- not only with people, but also with cats, birds, bunnies, other dogs, and creatures I've yet to meet.

-If you're looking for a little watch dog; get a Terrier.

-We don't all have a lozenge! Still, it's a fun story!

Wondering about the lozenge? Here's the story: Sarah Churchill grew up in King Charles' court and grew to love the King Charles Spaniels. One day, she sat stroking the head of one of her red and white Spaniels, who at the time was just about ready to whelp. Because Sarah was waiting anxiously for news of her husband, a soldier fighting in the battle of Blenheim, she did a lot of stroking. Soon the bitch delivered five puppies. All of the pups had a spot (lozenge in dog parlance) or Blenheim Spot, on the forehead, like a thumbprint, precisely where Sarah had been so persistently stroking their mother's head with her thumb.

Next Profile: Australian Shepherd!

sources:

The Cavalier King Charles Spaniel by Barbara Garnett-Wilson

see some nice pics at
http://www.akc.org/breeds/cavalier_king_charles_spaniel/photos.cfm

A Treeing Walker Coonhound Drawn Carriage!

2011-07-21T08:59:00.001-04:00

Riding a dog cart through the city

http://www.orlandosentinel.com/multimedia/os-dog-cart-riding20110711,0,6829579.story

The Rat's Hands are Clean

2011-07-18T10:44:00.004-04:00

Rats have a dirty reputation. It turns out, compared with other critters, rats rank high in the cleanliness department. Rats clean themselves frequently with their tongues, much the way cats do. But they have something cats don't have: hands. Rats lick their hands and rub behind their ears. They wash their hands before and after meals.

Clean, though they may be, they are wild animals that aren't always a joy to behold. Now and then you may see a rat in your backyard. Some hysterical folks are against wild bird feeders because rats eat seeds, too. Personally, I don't discriminate at my bird feeder. Still, there is no denying that the rat is not my target customer.

Rats are rodents (Order: Rodentia). Some other familar rodents: squirrels, mice, beavers, guinea pigs and gophers.

Some Rat Facts
-a rat can squeeze through a hole the size of a quarter
-front teeth grow throughout life
-gestation: 22 days
-average litter size: 11
-rat pups are self sufficient at 4 weeks of age
-mom ready for first litter at 3 months of age
-vision best suited for the dark
-a rat can leap 2 feet, straight up (3 feet with a running start)

Rats have whiskers similar to cats, that serve as feelers, especially handy for navigating in narrow passages. Rats have keen hearing and are pretty fast runners. The long naked tail is used for balance when the rat stands on his hind legs.

It is tougher to kill a rat than it is to kill a mouse. This is true, not because the rat is bigger and tougher but because the rat is cautious. A rat will carefully examine a trap before taking food from it. One rat notes the smell on another rat's breath. Should a rat become ill or die, it is thought that the other rats remember that smell and avoid it. That's why it's harder to poison rats than other rodents.

Rats live in colonies and sleep huddled together. Typically, colonies contain multiple burrows connected by tunnels. Dwellings for rats may be anywhere from a hole in the ground to inside the wall on the fortieth floor of a high rise building. An Alpha Rat is in charge. All the males are responsible for protecting the colony. In the case of an intruder, lots of swaggering and teeth clicking goes on, but rarely does a rat actually fight. If fighting does occur, it is unlikely that anybody is injured.

The rat body is designed to run on seeds and grains. Since their favored food source isn't always available, rats have evolved to eat other foods such as pizza, raw eggs, potato chips or cat food found in a bowl on somebody's back porch.

And sometimes, rats visit the backyard bird feeder.

for more on rats:
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly Rats by Richard Conniff
Rodents of the World by David Alderton

for something differant/for those who like rats as pets:
Animals and the Afterlife by Kim Sheridan

Taming the Nemesis

2011-07-08T15:26:00.007-04:00

When Lois was a youngster, it became clear that boxes bothered her. Every time we'd get something in the mail that came in a box, Lois would refuse to go near it. Oh sure, sometimes she was leery of other things. For instance, out on a walk on a windy trash day- if a garbage can rolled onto the sidewalk, Lois would refuse to walk around it. But this sort of thing was occasional and easy to avoid (we simply crossed the street).

The box, however, was a fact of life in our home; a villain to be conquered. We had to find a way to help Lois adjust to, coexist with, her nemesis, the box. But how?

Here's How.

First. Act casual. Don't make a big deal out of it. Forgo the, "it's OK Lois! Look at the nice box!" These words had no effect on her. She stared at the box, frozen. So, we acted like the box wasn't there. We pretended that Lois wasn't standing immobile in a hypnotic trance. Eventually, Lois broke free of the trance and walked away.

Second. Try treats. But accept that sometimes treats don't work. For Lois, the presence of a terrible box was an appetite killer. Not even the most desirable treat in the world would distract her from her trepidation. Even a treat so rare and wonderful as Venison Liver Jerky made no dent in Lois' fear. You don't keep trying the same thing and expect a different result (hey, isn't there an aphorism about that?).

Third. Position a reward beyond the box. The idea was to get Lois to stroll with blissful indifference past the wicked box. First we had to get her simply to move past the dang box (even a panicked run past the box was progress). We placed the box on the route to the back door. Thus, Lois had to muster some courage in order to reach the coveted backyard.

Fourth. Decrease the size of the scare by decreasing the size of the box. It became clear that box size mattered. Indeed, the bigger the box, the more Lois feared it. So we down-sized. A shoebox? No sweat. It was practically invisible to Lois. A box the size of a vacuum cleaner? Not invisible. So we employed the positioning and the acting casual and pretty soon we graduated to an even bigger box.

Fifth. Utilize the pack. Call it group think or peer pressure or let the dogs train each other. If you have a bunch of dogs, you have to be nuts not to let them help out. So, we use our ever available canine coaches. Fearless Rose may be half the size of Lois, but she is quite capable of shaming her into action with, "I dare you to walk by this box".

Lois is a grown-up now. She has made peace with her nemesis, and most of the time, is able to saunter, her dread in check, by almost any box. Then, yesterday, we got a new couch.

Hooray! Our new couch arrived! Bizarrely, it was in a box. Needless to say, a box big enough to contain a couch is a big box. Without question, it was the biggest box we have ever asked Lois to approach. (It must be noted in all fairness to Lois, none of the other dogs, except the always intrepid Rose, chose to go near this remarkably big box).

After we extracted the couch from the box and set the couch where it belongs, we carried the very big box outside. It was almost time for the baseball game, so we flung the box onto the driveway, just inside the gate. (The Tigers beat the Royals!).

This morning, Lois and I set out for our usual walk. The monster couch box was blocking our path. There was about four feet of room between the box and the house. Lois wouldn't budge. I walked casually past the box and through the gate, the leash dangling enticingly in my hand. Yes! Lois followed.

We had a lovely walk. When we returned Lois barely glanced at the box.

Breed Profile: Greater Swiss Mountain Dog

2011-06-29T11:10:00.005-04:00

The Greater Swiss Mountain Dog is of the mastiff type, which means big, strong and jowly. Swissys are tri-colored (black, tan and white) with a short double coat. Yes, they shed.

The GSMD is the largest of four Swiss breeds originally used as draft dogs, drovers and all around farm dogs. In World War II, the Swissy carried military supplies in either back packs or by pulling carts, for the Swiss Army.

Swissys are home bodies. They are unlikely to wonder off except, perhaps, to check out the neighbor's livestock. This is not a breed that is content to be left alone for long periods. Swissys want to be with their people, whether hanging around the house, tending the garden, or running errands.

True to their mountain heritage, the GSMD is fond of snow and not tolerant of hot weather. Like other large deep chested breeds, the Swissy is at risk of the dreaded bloat. Interesting observation by a Swissy breeder: personality plays a role in bloat victims. An easy going Swissy is less likely then a more intense Swissy to have a bloat attack. (Could be it's like the old Type A and Type B theory for heart attack victims).

Swissys are wonderful family dogs. They are gentle and protective of children but aren't snippy about it. Their usual manner of protection is to place themselves in between a loved one and a stranger. The worst thing to be said about living with a Swissy; he'll get in your way because he wants to be near you.

Swissy Manifesto

- I will alert you to important happenings large and small, by throwing my head back and exclaiming, "baroo" .
- I'd rather use my nose to poke people than to sniff them out.
- Sure, let's exercise. But remember: I'm not a sprinter; I'm a stroller.

Next Breed Profile: Cavalier King Charles Spaniel!

see some nice pics at
http://www.akc.org/breeds/greater_swiss_mountain_dog/photos.cfm

sources: An Introduction to the Greater Swiss Mountain Dog by Shannon Hennigan
Greater Swiss Mountain Dog Club of America (GSMDCA.org)

Awards are Sweet

2011-06-27T09:12:00.012-04:00

The original intended recipient of the Irresistibly Sweet Award declined- too busy waiting for the sugar coating to dry or something. Thus, I step in as Honorable Mention or Second Tier or perhaps Semi Sweet to accept an Irresistibly Sweet Blogger Award. Thank you Eve of The Desert Rocks.

It is a curious thing how differently we are perceived by others than how we perceive ourselves. Me? Sweet? My writing? Sweet? I don't see it. But some critters are sweet so maybe this makes me sweet by association.

In trying to understand this sweet business, let us consider two dear friends of mine. Carla was not what I would call sweet. She was a sort of smart alack. For instance, when my husband, The Handsome One, would leave the room for a brief time, Carla would get up and take his chair. She did this, I believe, not because it was the best seat in the house but because it caused THO to good naturedly bellow, GET OUT OF MY CHAIR YOU BAD DOG YOU!

On the other hand, Wilma was sweet. She was the kind of gal who put her head in your lap not because she wanted to be petted, but because she noticed you were a bit downcast so she figured you needed a little petting.

Let's return to Irresistibly Sweet Bloggers. The Award rules say recipients are to offer 7 personal facts or tidbits and give 5 other bloggers a Sweet Award. Non compliance is one of the subsets of my sweetness. These rules are like chain letter rules or backyard croquet rules- acknowledge their existence then do what you want.

Here's some tidbits about me:

1. From the age of ten through the age of thirty, I played softball with ferocious enthusiasm.

2. Grape Nuts is my favorite cereal even though it is only edible when allowed to soak in milk for a minimum of twenty minutes.

3. I am far more graceful on ice skates than I am in ballet slippers.

4. The pond in my backyard has more frogs than flowers. This is how it ought to be.

Now, let's give some awards away!

To bettyl of incidental imagery. She takes really cool photos and pairs them with pithy sayings.

To Erin of Nuka vs the Land Walrus. She offers tales of her dogs with heart and humor.

Thanks again Eve. You are sweet.

please visit:
http://www.thedesertrocks.blogspot.com/
http://www.incidentalimagery.blogspot.com/
http://www.nukavsthelandwalrus.blogspot.com/
http://www.sambirdandme.blogspot.com/

The American Robin

2011-06-20T16:15:00.117-04:00

The Robin's song is a merry tweet tweet; a song that exudes cheerful optimism. (Some of the Robin's riffs remind me of songs sung by my beloved Canary, JeanPierre. He was a very merry bird.) The upbeat beat of the Robin's voice combined with a sprightly hopping gait make for jolly birdwatching.

Unlike many common backyard birds, the Robin's courtship rituals are not well known. We see Mr. Cardinal with his bright red feathers tenderly feeding the blandly colored Mrs. Cardinal. We see House Sparrows chasing each other with amazing aerodynamic skill. How they are able to turn and dive with such speed and frenzy without smashing into a lamppost is even more exciting than the grand finale which is Mr. Sparrow mounting Mrs. Sparrow on the ground, on the wire, on the rooftop, on the Barberry Bush and on and on.

Male and female Robins look quite similar. Both have reddish orange breasts, grey feathers on the wings and back, yellow beak with a black tip and white outlines around the eyes. Slight differences in appearance include: the male's head is darker grey, almost black and the female has a touch of white on her belly.

Robins build nests out of mud and grasses often in pine trees or on assorted horizontal objects such as a windowsill. Robins nest early in the spring and usually have 2-3 broods a year sometimes using the same nest.

It takes about two weeks to incubate the 3-4 light blue eggs. The youngsters leave the nest when they are about four weeks old.

Robins sleep and commune with other birds in large groups. Incidentally, a group of Robins is called a Worm. Even during breeding the males will sleep among the flock and return to the nest in the morning.

The female takes care of the incubation duty. She typically sits on the eggs for fifty minutes out of each hour, leaving only to eat and drink. Once the young are born both parents feed them. Robins eat fruit, earthworms and insects.

Not all Robins migrate to warmer areas during the winter. Some remain. Since they can't hunt bugs and worms in the snow, they survive by eating berries and some seeds.

see nice pictures of Robins at allaboutbirds.org

sources: Guide to Bird Behavior, Volume 1 by Donald Stokes, identifywhatbird.com

Multi Purpose Commands

2011-06-16T08:35:00.001-04:00

Living with dogs is never dull and most of us like it that way. But don't let chaos spoil the fun! Of course, no matter how much you love Spot, you don't let him run things, his priorities would doubtless be different than yours. You must be in charge.

In everyday life things come up that aren't covered by standard commands like come, wait, sit, etc. Indeed, there are many instances where you need a more versatile method for bossing Boots around. Thus, today's tutorial focuses on handy multi purpose commands.

Now then, our first example of a multi purpose command involves direction or location. This is useful when you want the dog to leave the room or in general, move elsewhere. You don't have to teach Fluffy individual room names (unless you want to amaze your friends!). One command can serve to get Fluffy from here to there.

Let's take my dogs for example. The short haired dogs rarely get material on their rump hair after a bowel movement. Sheepdog Lois is not so fortunate. The poop bounces against her substantial hair on the way down and leaves crumbs. As the dogs enter the back door following toilette, I am traffic cop. The short hairs may repair to the kitchen. "This way" accompanied by an arm gesture that points to the kitchen sends the dogs up the steps to the kitchen. Lois must go to the basement bathroom because that's where the baby wipes are. "This way" accompanied by a arm gesture toward the basement sends Lois down the steps to the basement. (Lois is an old hand at this, she heads right to the bathroom and waits for me). You will notice I don't say kitchen to one dog and basement to another. "This way" and a wave of your hand is a directional command that can be used anywhere.

Our next example is useful for those unpleasant or awkward things you must do to your dog from time to time. Sometimes you have to wipe goop off your dog's eye or trim the hair between his toe pads. "Let me do" proclaims that something disagreeable but necessary is about to happen. You've already taught your dog to cooperate with say, being rigged in a harness and getting into the car. When you have to then lean over him to fasten the seat beat a little "let me do" can save you both the stress of wiggling. The "let me do" command is sort of a courtesy/warning/comfort all in one. The dog knows he must cooperate and trust you to guide him through the ordeal. It even works at the Vet's office.

Life is full of inconvenient mundane details you and your dog must endure. Multi purpose commands give you tools to reduce irritation and increase organization to benefit you both.

True Summer

2011-06-10T09:15:00.004-04:00

What does summer mean? School's out? Lazy days poolside? Softball games and picnics? For me summer has officially arrived when Malcom can go outside. As some of you may recall, Malcom is a tortoise. He is my pet, my captive and a source of fascination and responsibility ever since 1975. And it is because of Malcom that I view summer not merely by when it's warm enough to plant Basil or when the pond Lilies bloom but when it is OK to put Malcom outside.

Being a cold blooded creature, Malcom's environment is more than just a matter of comfort, it is a matter of survival. Thus, his cage is outfitted with a warming/basking light and a heating unit that warms a section of the bottom. This way Malcom can easily move into the appropriate clime to keep his body at the right temperature.

Real sunlight is critical for good health too. So in summer Malcom spends time outdoors. Long ago, my dad made a containment unit with wooden sides and a top made of chicken wire. This keeps Malcom safe from predators and getting lost in the Peony patch while allowing him to nibble on fresh grass and to bask in genuine sunshine. A portion of the containment area is shaded by a piece of cardboard (we like things high tech around here). This way Malcom can alternate between sunning himself and chillin' in the shade.

Malcom may be a laconic and unaffectionate fellow but he has vast power over my plans and actions all year. As for what summer means, let's just say that summer is not measured by the calendar or even simply by the weather. True Summer is measured by whether it is warm enough for Malcom.

Anthropomorphize This!

2011-05-31T10:30:00.001-04:00

Those who claim to know things tell us we mustn't anthropomorphize when discussing dogs. Yeah, well, there's an argument against picking your nose in the car while waiting at a stop light. Both no-no's have a purpose.

Presumably the good and useful purpose of nose picking need not be explained at length. Let's proceed to the matter of anthropomorphizing a dog's behavior. Consider the shy dog. Like the shy person, the shy dog generally approaches social encounters one of two ways: retreat or attack.

In retreat mode, the dog and the person avoids the social encounter to spare themselves the ordeal that shyness can be. The dog hides in the basement while his owner entertains in the living room. The person declines an invitation and stays home.

The alternative reaction is attack mode or just plain being aggressive. For the dog this may involve growling, showing teeth, or even biting. For the person it may involve obnoxious jokes and bombastic soliloquies. Sounds like overkill, no? That's why anthropomorphizing can be effective to explain dog behavior. Now we can understand why the dog is bearing his teeth or snapping- he's shy and afraid! Just like the person who talks too loud at a party. He's self conscious and is overcompensating by being a loudmouth jerk.

It turns out that anthropomorphizing is a good old common sense way to explain dog behavior. Understanding makes it easier to help. Shy dogs, like shy people, can learn to handle their shyness. That awful feeling probably never fully goes away but it can be controlled. Who hasn't felt the fear and done it anyway- and lived to tell about it? We can help our shy brethren to feel the fear and do it anyway too.

The retreating shy dog is best left to his own curiosity or desire for companionship. Leave the door open. The dog can come up from the basement and peek into the living room on his own. Ask your guests not to make a fuss over his presence. Little by little the dog will join in. Like the shy person who sits alone on the sofa at a party, he puts himself in the mix. Eventually somebody will sit down and share in a pleasant conversation. Slow and steady wins over the shy.

The attack style shy dog can be encouraged to join in the fun in the same way. One coveat: be sure the guests understand the importance of giving the dog some room. Rushing up to the dog and cooing, "oh aren't you so sweet! Don't be shy!" and getting in the dog's face is not going to help and may get somebody hurt. What's needed is the same treatment other party guests give the loudmouth shy guy. Ignore. He eventually realizes the pushy strategy doesn't work and tries something else. Hopefully he goes with the be yourself method, that's a winner.

Shyness is an uncomfortable feeling. Ask a shy dog. He'll tell you about it.

Victorian Charm, Part 2.

2011-05-26T09:50:00.002-04:00

My brother dubbed her "Nonny". I had no say in the matter, mainly because I hadn't been born yet. Nonny was my maternal grandmother and was, frankly, a bit of a prude. Nonny's sensibilities ran toward the Victorian. Though she was willing to say words such as "leg" or "tinkle", she would never say words like "gam" or "pee".

Nonny had a Pomeranian named Tinker. Tinker knew where the Designated Elimination Area was. It was outside. "Do you wanna go outside?" If she had to "go", Tinker knew a couple of barks and a quick pirouette would get the back door opened.

Once outside the order of business was, "do your dirt". Rolls off the tongue nicely, doesn't it? It is quaint and clean and rather enchanting. I still use that command for my own dogs. Call it a family tradition. Every puppy I house train is taught "do your dirt".

I may cuss under my breath while waiting for the dog to get on with it in a downpour but the "it" will forever remain "do your dirt".

I wouldn't have it any other way. Thanks Nonny.

Victorian Charm, Part 1.

2011-05-25T15:47:00.008-04:00

Got to hand it to the Victorian era. Imagine being so very decent as to require euphemisms to describe anything remotely indecent. These proper folks must have been a major factor in the huge number of synonyms present in the English language.

A very nice customer brought this theory to mind. Ms. Customer was away for a few days and asked me to take care of her cats. For over a decade, it has been a great honor and joy to be entrusted to look after these two delightful brothers. As the boys are getting along in years, they have been experiencing bladder challenges. Or, as Ms. C. described it, "increased activity in the litter box".

Indeed, Ms. C. left me a note saying she has doubled and sometimes tripled daily visits to the box in order to keep up with the additional activity therein. Therefore, she would understand (and pay extra) if I too, felt the need to visit more than once a day to maintain the desired cleanliness level.

Now, even somebody like me, whose conversational style leans toward the free wheeling, sometimes vulgar side can appreciate the exquisite propriety evidenced in that litter box discussion. And because I like Ms. C. and love her cats, I stepped up my efforts to adhere to the exemplary conditions expected in the boys's toilette in spite of a larger presence of material due to heavier traffic.

I may be a salty broad but I know a sweet gig when I have one, even if it means I must inhale a little more organic substance than I'd prefer.

Breed Profile: Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier

2011-05-19T10:43:00.012-04:00

First of a new regular feature! Dog Breed Profiles.

The Wheaten is a medium sized squarely built dog of the Terrier type. That is, he has that jaunty spring to his step and that fabulous strait up tail and the overall body style also present in the Kerry Blue Terrier, the Irish Terrier and the Airdale, among others. The Wheaten weighs in the range of 30-45 pounds and is 17-20 inches in height (at the shoulder). Life expectancy is 12-15 years.

The Wheaten differs from other terriers in coat type. Touch the coat of a Cairn or Welsh Terrier. You will find it wiry not soft. These coats must be stripped (a fancy way to say tediously pulling individual hairs out) to maintain the wiriness. The Wheaten has a single coat of soft silky hair. This coat is maintained by combing it out (brushing makes it fuzzy, like my hair on a humid day). Many choose to trim the Wheaten shorter on the body and leave beard and bangs on the head. This haircut makes the Wheatie look rather like a blond Schnauzer. But it does relieve the owner of all that stressful combing.

The best way to understand a breed is to look at what job it was originally developed to do. Terriers are vermin catchers. Members of the Terrier group range in size and shape based on which vermin they pursue. Consider the Dachshund. (Though not a terrier, it has terrier qualities and is a great visual). Long narrow bodied and short legged - the better to fit down a critter hole. Taller terriers like the Wheaten can chase down a rat and other unwanted pests like snakes or fox. In Ireland, where the Wheaten was first developed, he was not just a pest control expert but an all around farm dog who worked as a guard, herder, hunter and companion. Today the Wheaten still has the urge to chase vermin. So if you have a pet rabbit or guinea pig in the house, take care to protect them from the very real chance of their falling victim to the Wheaten's innate prey drive.

The typical Wheaten is self confident and cheerful. They like children but will not tolerate rough handling. Wheatens are reasonably intelligent and not particularly easy or hard to train. While usually amiable with other dogs, the Wheaten prefers to be with people. One of the biggest complaints about Wheaties is their exuberant tendency to jump upon and kiss most everybody they meet.

The Wheaten Manifesto
Sure, I'm slightly goofy and quirky, it's part of my charm.
Yes, I know that sleep is important but we can do that later. First let's do something fun.
Squirrels are meant to be treed.
Let's sit on the couch together so close that we are practically melded.

Next Breed Profile: Greater Swiss Mountain Dog!

akc.org
Encyclopedia of Dog Breeds by D. Caroline Coile, PhD

Trespassers will be Treed

2011-05-11T11:17:00.007-04:00

It is clear to me now why dogs so enjoy chasing critters up trees. I treed a cat! In all honesty it was inadvertent. Admittedly, I am but a novice treer. Nonetheless, due to my actions, an animal fled up a tree and stayed there (at least for a time). Thus, it qualifies as a treeing.

The usual morning routine around here is when Lois and I return from our walk the other dogs join us in the backyard. I then put a cup of seed in the bird feeder which hangs from the Maple tree. On this day however, there were trespassers in the yard. Three cats were skulking around under the Maple tree. One of the cats was that enormous clay colored cat that is a frequent visitor. His companions were a dark brown medium sized cat and a juvenile pale calico. When I saw them I lunged in their direction and uttered something along the lines of, "yaah!"

They scattered. The big cat and the brown cat slipped into the next yard, presumably under the fence where it meets a raised concrete area. The youngster went in the other direction and finding no way out, went up a tree.

My neighbor is not an enthusiastic weed puller. This results in weeds along the fence line. Some of these weeds grow into trees. It was one such tree up which the cat youth found himself. He clung tightly to a branch and his eyes revealed what you might euphemistically call concern.

Meanwhile, the local birds who are familiar with our morning routine, had witnessed this occurrence.   Sparrows perched in a group on the Weiglela. Pigeons waited in a row on the phone line. Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal hung out in the Forsythia. A Blue jay squawked from the Red Maple in the neighbor's yard. After I put seed in the feeder, the birds descended.

The adolescent cat loosened his grip on the tree branch and looked around, weighing his options. He could climb down the same way he climbed up.   Or he could move out onto a branch and leap onto another branch then into the shrubs. But he would need squirrel dexterity to pull that off. His remaining option was to jump onto the neighbor's roof.

Some birds pecked at the seed in the feeder and some on the ground while the cat remained in the tree. A Blue jay perched in a branch at eye level to the cat and jauntily cawed, "in a bit of a bind, aren't you, Bucko?"  A half a dozen Sparrows clustered in the Pussy Willow tree and gazed smugly at the captive kitty.  "Nah, nah. Bet you wish you had wings, eh Pal?" Mr. Cardinal perched at a discrete distance while his mate used the feeder. He cheeped, "hey, Young Fella, you ever hear of karma?"

Nature can be cruel. But it isn't every day that it's playground taunting cruel.

Before long, the big cat and the brown cat returned. They stood on the neighbor's front lawn. Because the Forsythia bushes blocked the view, we can only assume that they were talking junior down. Indeed, the kid jumped from the tree onto the roof. For some time, he moved from side to side of the roof. Cautiously, he would lean over an edge and peer down. One imagines his mentors on the ground advising, encouraging their protege'. Pretty soon the lad leaped onto the awning over the porch than plunged some ten or twelve feet onto the lawn.

He must have made it. A peek around the Forthesia hedge revealed no cats in the grass.

Not Scared, are you?

2011-05-04T10:06:00.116-04:00

Most of us know a dog who is afraid of thunderstorms. I once had a dog named Esther. During storms she would hide under my bed shivering and panting. There was no consoling her. She would not come out from under the bed even to enjoy the distraction of say, a rawhide chew or a let's go for a ride type positive experience. The dog was just plain scared out of her wits.

If the lightening and thunder show occurred during the night, I would lie on my bed feeling the vibration of Esther's trembling beneath me. This is the only time it ever crossed my mind that the bed frame might give way and collapse under my weight. It was as though Esther's irrational fear was contagious. I was unable to sleep, not only due to the crashing storm outside and the sound of Esther panting and the unrelenting movement of the bed as Esther quaked but because my mind would not let go of the stupid idea that suddenly just as Esther lay vulnerable beneath the bed- it would crush her. This experience convinces me of the power of association. Let's call it the Esther Effect.

We're told by experts that a dog who is afraid of thunderstorms can be reconditioned from a fearful reaction to a positve (or at least neutral) reaction. Buy yourself a recording of a thunderstorm and play it softly while feeding the dog treats or playing. Little by little as the dog grows more nonchalant, turn up the volume of the phony storm. The theory is that in time, the dog will not be afraid of thunderstorms because he's been having fun during the formerly scarey business of driving rains and flashes of light and boom boom thanks to a positive simulated storm experience.

Sounds great, doesn't it? You can redo an unpleasant reaction into new improved blase' courage! Trouble is, you make some progress in your desensitizing then a real live storm comes along and you're back to square one. Oh, well, slow and steady wins the race. Don't give up! Try try again! It'll be OK! You can do it!

In my household, roughly half the residents are afraid of storms and half are indifferent to them. The scaredy cats run to The Handsome One for comfort. It's done quite casually, we just sort of loiter in the general vicinity of THO and the other brave ones here at Bad Dog Ranch. We hang around hoping that something will rub off. You know, the Esther Effect.

Fear takes its toll.

Esther (on the left) as she appeared on sunny days. Her companion's name was Heather. It is not known whether or not Heather was afraid of thunderstorms.

Long Lasting Pets (like Malcom)

2011-04-27T11:02:00.008-04:00

Yes, pets are a responsibility. But some are more of an investment than others. Investment of years, that is. Consider the difference between a Betta Fish and an African Grey Parrot. Well cared for, the Betta may live a year and a half, the Grey seventy years.

Many people make provisions in their wills for the care of their pets. Laws vary from state to state in the US but usually a trust fund can be set up to provide for the pet's needs. In addition to the monetary provision, a guardian is named to manage the pet's care.

The topic of pets to grow old with gives me an excuse to talk about Malcom. In the summer of 1975, I was thirteen. Macomb Pet Shop was about a mile away and a frequent destination for my family. My brother was an avid tropical fish hobbiest and I often came along to look at the Mynah Bird that apparently lived there in the store. And there were the turtles. I had enjoyed terrapins as pets. Then I found out about tortoises. Very cool critters and less dirty water to clean! A shallow pan of water is all they require for drinking and occasional soaking. Tortoises need to be keep warm, so a light and/or undertank heating unit is necessary.

Red Footed Tortoise

Malcom was about the size of half a shoebox when I bought him. These days, when you buy a Red Footed Tortoise from a pet shop he'll be a baby, slightly smaller than a baseball and captive bred. Malcom was probably caught in the wild and shipped to the pet shop. This likelihood has always led me to believe that Malcom harbors not a small amount of animosity towards me. (This may be more my hang up then his, however.) Still, there is no denying that Malcom is a prisoner. But then, arguably, most pets are prisoners. As Warden, you try to make it a nice prison.

The day Malcom came home with us was hot and sunny. So, by Red Footed Tortoise standards, quite comfortable. Under my giddy and watchful eye, Malcom strolled around on the grass in the backyard. He was magnificent- elephantine hind legs, dark brown shell decorated with three tidy rows of yellow squares. His head was sprinkled with yellow and orange polka dots. Dark orange circles accented his feet. Malcom's front feet looked like standard turtle feet (though thicker) shaped at an angle with nails suitable for digging. Of course, tortoises tend to be thicker all around than terrapins. It is no doubt by design. Terrapins need to be more stream-lined for swimming. Tortoises need to be heavy and sturdy to handle the challenges and perils found on the ground. On this lovely summer day, Malcom ate his first meal in Lynn's Prison yard: a perfectly ripe strawberry.

My relationship with Malcom has spanned some three decades. Stay tuned, more excuses to talk about Malcom are forthcoming.

Image: from the book, Turtles by John M. Mehrtens

Recommended reading: Turtles by Hartmut Wilke and Exotic Pets by Arthur Rosenfeld

She's not even Embarrassed

2011-04-20T15:36:00.003-04:00

Is there such a thing as Doggy Pride? Do dogs feel a strong sense of duty and fidelity to dogdom the way Americans do to their country? Or is Doggy Pride more like loyalty to a team? Could it be that dogs just sort of hang out, possessing only a vague notion of self respect like a forty year old who has never done anything his entire life other than be a student? Or is the dog thing all unthinking instinct?

Like most seemingly inscrutable questions, the answer is probably a combination of things. Inscrutable things, probably.

A close friend of mine is a sheepdog. (Please see Hairballs- not just a cat thing, May 24, 2010). She has had a problem with hairballs for some time now. Today we visited the veterinarian and left with a tube of "Cat Lax". The label reads: a palatable formula for the elimination and prevention of hairballs in cats". And as of today- Cats and Lois.

I gave her a dose just now. She's not even embarrassed.

Why the heck am I so embarrassed? It's not like she's using a litterbox.

That's a Lot to Ask

2011-04-14T21:44:00.004-04:00

My dog, Lester was due for his Rabies booster. During the check up the veterinarian noted that Lester had a slight fever. Obviously, since his body was busy dealing with something important enough to cause a fever, we delayed the vaccination. A few weeks later, Lester was fine and bravely received the injection.

Lester's dog license renewal was also due. Visiting City Hall is one of those things that invites procrastination so it was a couple weeks later when I appeared at the City Clerk's window with proof of Rabies Vaccination in hand and some cash in my purse. A bland woman slipped me an official City of Royal Oak form and instructed me to fill it out. She did not make eye contact with me. On top of the fee for the license was a ten dollar fine for lateness. I did not bother to explain to Ms. Bland why my beloved dog's rabies vaccination and license application failed to meet her timeline.

For some time, I've been flirting with the idea of helping out a local rescue group by fostering dogs until permanent homes can be found for them. This would mean additional dogs would be living in my home for periods anywhere from two days to two years. I wondered if the city rules would permit me to do this good deed. Ms. Bland didn't know or seem to care what the dog limit per household was. She turned to a large woman wearing a smirk. While not making eye contact with me, Ms. Smirk said three animals was all you are allowed. Animals. She stressed the word animals. Not just dogs but animals. I asked what can you do if you wish to have more than three animals. Ms. Smirk said they don't answer questions like that. This is the City Clerk. I'd have to go upstairs to Zoning.

I climbed the stairs to the second floor and found court rooms. I was pleased to find a bathroom on the second floor too. It is always good to know where the bathrooms are. The theme on this floor was courtly not zoney. Determined to find and query Zoning, I headed up to the third floor.

There were signs on the walls on the third floor but none for Zoning. Walking through several twisting interconnected narrow hallways did a thorough job of getting me turned around. It is troubling not to know which way North is, even when you don't really need to know it. Eventually, I found a man in the Engineering Section. Not only did he make eye contact with me, he smiled too! Zoning isn't a real destination, he told me. What I wanted was Planning- go right then left then through a curving hallway and Planning is on the right. It was.

At the Planning window, an elderly woman wearing thick glasses greeted me with indifference. She told me she couldn't answer my question and called to someone behind a cubicle wall. A nerdy looking fellow of indeterminate age appeared. When I asked my question he reached for a reference book and quickly found the page he was looking for. Yes, three animals is the limit. If you want to have more you can request a hearing. He paused and looked at me with sheepish sympathy. He could give me an application. There is a fee. The process is not inexpensive, Mr. Nerd added, a remarkable understatement that would reveal itself shortly.

I'd been intending to get this information for months. There I was in City Hall. So, of course, I asked- how much does it cost? In a soft voice, Mr. Nerd answered. Seven hundred dollars. Seven hundred dollars to ask for a hearing. Seven hundred dollars to ask some bureaucrats whose salary I pay, if is OK with them for me to have more than three dogs in my house. Seven hundred dollars to ask for permission to do something in my own home.

I thanked the nice nerd and walked out to my car. Incredibly, I did not cry. I rather thought I would. But by the time I reached the privacy of my car the tears had gone.

It turns out- I am too angry to cry.

Worse than Skunk

2011-04-06T16:32:00.008-04:00

In the pantheon of bad odors, skunk spray ranks pretty high. But there is a far worse stink than skunk oil. Skunk poop or suspected skunk poop- at any rate, confirmed wild critter poop- is just about the worst thing I have ever inhaled.

Naturally, because this smell is so awful, some dogs feel irresistibly inclined to roll in it. This morning, one of my dogs did just that. For reasons that we humans will never fathom, this dog opted to become one with the stench. So she rubbed her head on it, leaving a path of hellish rankness from her cheek down her neck all the way to her shoulder.

One of my other dogs pointedly sniffed at her neck, tattle tale syle. This alerted me. There was a dark smudge visible on her hair at the side of her neck. I leaned in to sniff the smudge and almost threw up. The dog who committed this heinous roll will henceforth be referred to as Stinky. We'll call her Stinky too. That is, when we start speaking to her again.

The only, and I mean ONLY bright spot in this wretched episode is the fact that excrement washes out more readily than does the oily stuff that skunks spray. Yes, for the horrific dung- lather rinse repeat x 3 did the trick.

By the way, for skunk spray clean up you'll need: White vinegar or 3 % hydrogen peroxide, baking soda, and dish detergent. (The ratios are roughtly: 1 liter, 1/4 cup, 1 teaspoon.) Repeat lots of times. Or call a professional. Some companies have portable grooming stations inside a van which they'll park in your driveway while they deskunk your dog for you.

But if you're like me, you wash your own. Therefore, I have a stash of assorted doggy shampoos always at the ready. To eradicate Stinky's impromptu putrid adventure, I went with a deodorant version offering a pleasing Cucumber Melon bouquet.

I was framed!

Mud Sling

2011-04-02T12:43:00.002-04:00

The ground is thawing. The earth becomes mushy. It rains.

Mush becomes muddy slush- mulush? slud?

This calls for a change of routine for my dogs. Those with muddy paws must cue up to a bucket before entry into the house is permitted. You know those little slivers of bar soap that are too small for shower duty? I've got a mesh bag full of 'em! Swish that bag in a bucket of warm water and... instant foot bath!

After the muddy paw is immersed in water I use either my fingers or a washcloth to rub out all the offending mud. Follow up with a big fluffy towel and we have paws fit for indoor use.

What mud busting methods have you tried, and which do you recommend?

Just go Aviary, Part 1.

2011-03-30T06:03:00.016-04:00

The Zebra finch community here at Bad Dog Ranch currently consists of four birds. Roman and Mary and two of their children, Harlequin and Dwight. Mom and dad live in the big cage. Their children live in another smaller cage. Why separate cages, you ask? Because Roman and Mary kicked the babies out once they were able to eat on their own. So Harlequin and Dwight moved into a nice flight cage on the other side of the room.

Because I didn't want to rig up a third cage, I asked Sue of Royal Tropical Fish and Bird Haven to take the remaining three members of Roman and Mary's brood. Sue very kindly took pity on this long time customer and gave me a few bucks for these lovely birds. By the way, one of the siblings looked like Dwight- tan with typical Zebra Finch markings. The other two were grey with typical Zebra Finch markings. Harlequin is sort of white and dark grey blotched, resembling the coat of a Harlequin Great Dane.

The other day Dwight looked bad. When a bird looks bad, that is- all puffed up, eyes half closed, not moving much, having trouble balancing on a perch- it is often curtains. Happily, it was not curtains for Dwight. After she laid an egg, she perked right up. This got me to thinking about baby birds. Though, I'm pretty sure Harlequin is a female too, even if he/she isn't -the whole incest thing forbids a mating between Harlequin and Dwight.

Now back to the beginning of the finch saga, as far as I know, Roman and Mary are not siblings. It was a few years ago in October when Roman and Mary joined our gang. They were already paired up at the pet shop. In fact, they came with a nest. This nest was a small wicker basket resembling a Tiki torch with an awning over it. Inside was one egg nestled in a paper towel.

The temperature outside that day was in the forties, I remember because I felt the need to hurry the birds from the vehicle into the house. And there was that egg to keep warm too, though Roman and Mary were on top of it, in every sense of the word.

Once we got them settled in the big cage, I went ahead and started worrying about the temperature inside our house. You see, THO (The Handsome One) and I possess Polar Bear constitutions. Therefore, we set the thermostat at 61 in the winter because we find it comfortable, not because we are crazed Greenies out to save the world from mythical Global Warming. In fact, I'm still waiting for the immanent Ice Age the "experts" promised back in the 1970's. (No, we don't set the thermostat at 61 in the summer, as glorious as that would feel. We rough it.)

Should we crank up the furnace? My bird reference book says 65 is the lowest of the optimal temperature range for Zebra Finches. Naturally, I asked the expert about proper bird keeping temperatures. Sue summed it up this way: if a toddler can handle the weather, so can a bird.

Roman and Mary handled the egg warming. Eventually, six eggs were accumulated and a few short weeks later, one by one, five little birds emerged. (That sixth egg is believed to have been crushed under everything and everybody else in the nest.)

To be continued...

http://www.finchaviary.com/
tp://www.royaltropicalonline.com/

Recommended reading:
The Finch Handbook by Christa Koepff and April Romagnano, Ph.D., DVM

Look! A Cute Critter!

2011-03-27T10:33:00.003-04:00

This is a Macaroni Penguin. Notice the fabulous pink feet. See more penguins at the Detroit Zoo Penguinarium. Now that I have your attention- special thanks to Christina of the Blog Entourage for featuring Pets and Other Critters on March 25th's Feature Friday !

http://www.detroitzoo.org/ http://www.theblogentourage.blogspot.com/

Resident Rabbit

2011-03-22T06:08:00.001-04:00

If you are sharing your yard with a wild rabbit, odds are, it's a Cottontail. There are several different versions of the Cottontail Rabbit, the most common among them is the Eastern Cottontail. This rabbit can be found from Canada to South America. This is almost certainly the creature that inhabits my own yard.

As any animal lover has noticed, rabbits are cute. It's delightful to look out your window and spot a bunny with a white fluffy tail just sort of hanging out. Part of you begins to grow fond of him. On days you don't see him, you worry. Has he been picked off by an Owl? You understand that this adorable dweller is a wild animal that is not your responsibility. Yet a certain sense of obligation and concern intrudes. This is the power of a cute critter. All it takes to be vulnerable is to be a fairly nice person.

Now then, that's very heartwarming and sentimental. Meanwhile, here, the snow has melted. All winter long the bunny has been loitering by the stump near the driveway. He appeared to be eating the stuff that grows in abundance on and around the stump. This greenery, and it stayed quite green all winter, covers the stump with a unruly mass of curved branches lined with green leaves roughly the size of a quarter. Indeed, even after a winter of rabbit feeding upon it, the shrubbery is still thick. What this greenery is exactly, is unclear.

My weed reference book contains no convincing entry for it. However, it does vaguely (very vaguely) resemble Prostrate Pigweed. I mention this only because it is fun to say Prostrate Pigweed.

Actually, the green thing growing on the stump is most likely of the family Eunoymus. Not insignificant support for this theory is the fact that the Burning Bush is kin to Eunoymus. Ah, the Burning Bush. One once graced my front yard- beautiful riot of magenta leaves in autumn. Two winters ago, rabbit or rabbits unknown ate it to the ground. The Burning Bush did not reemerge. The magenta treat forever decimated.

A looming question remains. If it is a Eunoymus, how the heck did it grow on the stump? I did not plant it. There are a couple of Eunoymous growing under my front window. (Intriguingly, neither is the same color as stumpy). This plant cultivates by sending out shoots along the ground. Little roots protrude from these sprigs eager to establish new Eunoymus. The stump with the maybe Eunoymus growing on it is on the other side of the driveway. How did those branchlet runners make it across that vast expanse of concrete?

Another possible cultivation explanation is this: suppose the bunny who so brutally ingested the Burning Bush defecated on the stump whereby planting a seed. From this seed nestled in fresh manure, sprouted a little plant. In time, it grew to a vigorous spread of juicy green and great great grandrabbit reaped the harvest. A somewhat pleasing hypothesis and a better deal for the beauty of my front yard than the rabbit eating the Eunoymus under the front window.

Speaking of the front window, a very large, frighteningly large, cat frequently keeps vigil under that window. (Much to the consternation of my dogs.) This may or may not be a factor in the bunny's choice of dining location. (One hopes the ground squirrels get savvy to this dire threat.)

And now with spring here, my thoughts turn to planting a nice row of lettuce. Dare I? With more food to choose from, the resident rabbit is sure seek something other than pseudo Eunoymous. Yes, I'm soft hearted and willing to share. But dang it, just as the lettuce reaches the very pinnacle of perfection, you set out to cut some for yourself only to discover that the rabbit beat you to it.

No, we mustn't hold a grudge. Though I still miss that Burning Bush. Where's that sense of duty I was all sappy about? And rabbits are terribly cute. Can't forget that enchanting business of Peter Cottontail hopping down the Bunny Trail, can we? Even the most dedicated curmudgeon likes the Easter Bunny.

Let's have some sympathy for the wild bunny. It's a tough life. All those cars and cats and people and fences to contend with. What's the life span of the suburban rabbit? A year or two? That's not even accounting for the high death rate of the baby rabbit. They are born naked and helpless in an open nest on the ground. Perfect set up for Feral Cat Buffet. Baby Bunny: Appetiser most recommended by Hawks.

OK. I'll plant an extra row and hope there is honor among rabbits. Happy Easter every bunny.

Picking on the Big Dogs

2011-03-14T09:11:00.003-04:00

In another chilling example of ignorant presumption, Saginaw, MI is considering a proposal to declare ten dog breeds "dangerous". Here's the list of "dangerous dog breeds" the brilliant minds of Saginaw's city council have come up with :

Alaskan Malamute
Chow Chow
Doberman Pinscher
German Shepherd
Great Dane
"Huskies"
"Pit Bulls"
Presa Canario
Rottweiler
St. Bernard

OK. We read the list. How sentient beings decreed these particular ten dog breeds as dangerous is a head scratcher. The only thing these dogs seem have in common is that they are large breeds (large is commonly defined as weighing over fifty pounds). Of course, we know that size hardly matters in matters of assertiveness or irritability, let alone "dangerousness". It is far more likely that a Yorkshire Terrier will bite you than will an Irish Wolfhound.

But then when a group of bureaucratic buffoons gather to consider passing outrageously intrusive laws on the citizenry only because they once heard that somebody somewhere once got bit by a dog, stupidity prevails. In a word: stunning. More words come to mind: audacity, arrogance and over reach.

Let's look at this list. What exactly is a "Husky"? Any dog with prick ears and a fluffy curled tail perhaps? Such as the well known, wildly dangerous Samoyed, Finnish Spitz or Keeshond? Or do they mean that infamous savage, the Siberian Husky? Danger! Beware! High cuteness factor!

"Pit Bull" is what? American Staffordshire Terrier? Staffordshire Bull Terrier? American Pit Bull Terrier? Bull Terrier? If we're going to point fingers at it, shouldn't we be specific as to what we're talking about?

St. Bernard. Sure, I read Cujo. As I recall he went crazy because a rabid raccoon bit him, not because of an inherent violent nature found in St. Bernards. And laws requiring rabies vaccinations are already on the books.

Another Gentle Giant, the Great Dane made this bizarre list. True, the cops give Marmaduke a ride home fairly often but you'll notice they never cuff him. And there is the little matter of him being a fictional character. You may not find the comic funny, but dangerous? Nope.

Here's a fun entry to the ten baddest dogs of Saginaw: Presa Canario. Wow. Could they pick a breed you are less likely to bump into? How about the Leonberger or the Alaskan Klee Kai? The Presa Canario may be a so-called bully breed but it's rarity makes it pretty obvious how silly the members of Saginaw city council are.

The other dog breeds on this ludicrous list have been vilified before. They've been banned in other places before too. Funny thing is, dog bites don't magically stop. It's kind of like how automobile accidents don't magically stop when restrictions are placed on which car you are allowed to drive.

This proposed bill would charge an extra $50 registration fee for owning one of the breeds on this absurd list. What will they randomly charge extra for next? How about $100 if your dog's collar is not made from recyclable material? Or $50 more if your dog is tri-colored? Or maybe they could charge by the pound.

Even if you don't live in Saginaw, any dog owner ought to worry. How many more limits will we allow Government to set on us? Government intrusion on our Freedom takes many forms. This is another. The next arbitrary list may have your dog's name on it. Or your name.

Someone alert Martha Stewart! Saginaw considers one of her favorite breeds dangerous!

http://www.akc.org/
The American Kennel Club Government Relations Department follows legislation regarding dogs.

Lots of Dogs, A Little Tutorial

2011-03-08T15:07:00.000-05:00

It is true and well worth repeating. Living with lots of dogs is a fun way to live.

Of course, like most things that are worthwhile, some effort is required. Here are some handy tips for keeping the pack in order and under your orders.

1. Use a Call Name for the group.

Each individual dog has a name and he knows his name. But when the gang is all together does it make sense to call out, "Biff, Rex, Suzy, Roland, Buttercup!"? Not really.

In fact, without realizing it, you may be using a group name for them already- perhaps "come on doggies" or "you hoodlums". If you are, it's likely your dogs already know when you are addressing them as a group. Now you just have to put it to use for bossing them around en masse.

By the way, no, it does not confuse a dog to be called by more than one name. Are you confused when someone calls you "Dear"? Haven't we all talked about a dog when we don't want him to know we're talking about him? That's how dogs learn to spell walk! And that's sometimes how they learn alternative names. For example, my dog Lester is the only male dog in our house. When Lester was a puppy, my husband and I sometimes discussed Lester while not wanting him to know we were discussing him. We'd refer to "the boy". Not surprisingly, Lester eavesdropped and figured out we were gossiping about him. Years later, he still responds to both Lester and The Boy.

Back to the matter of a group name. You train the group to do something the same way you train one dog to do something. To begin, make this easy on yourself. Offer them something they like. Try, "wanna go for a ride?" But add the group name. "Doggies, wanna go for a ride?" They'll learn their group name in no time. A quick drive around the block and Lesson One is complete.

2. Wait your turn.

Let's say everybody is at the back door wanting to go outside. Make them wait. Wait is similar to stay. But wait requires the dog to stay till you say he can move. Usually the command to release him from wait is "OK" which means now he can move. (Stay means stay till you call the dog to come to you.) Wait is used when the reward is out there- in this instance it is the backyard. The dog must wait till you say he can have the reward- to go outside.

When there are more than two dogs involved, you may not want them to charge out all together stampede style when you release them from wait. So teach them to wait their turn. Tell the group to wait. "Doggies wait". Then release just one of them at a time. "Just Rex. OK." Now Rex and only Rex is released from wait. Rex goes outside. Everybody else is still in wait.

No, it isn't true that commands must be only one word or the dog gets confused. (Where the heck did this rumor come from that dogs are so very easily confused?!) Sometimes it is just expedient to use one word. "Come" comes to mind. When you need your dog to come right away perhaps out of danger- there ought not be dilly dallying with long windy chatter. In other less emergency cases there is no earthy reason to insist on one word commands.

Human beings speak in phrases and sentences. Dogs are perfectly capable of comprehending a string of words. Example. In most rooms, I don't mind company around the house but insist on privacy while in the bathroom. When a dog enters the bathroom while I'm in there, I say, "I don't need you in here." The dog turns around and leaves.

Sure, I could have taught my dogs "depart" or "leave". Instead they learned this more natural comment/command. My point is, you don't have to get all worked up about official sounding commands. Trainers love to sell us on the fallacy that special words must be applied to communicate with a dog when an ordinary word or words work just fine. If you keep to your natural language style you won't have to fumble to remember the official command. This will help you avoid the, let's see now, what do I say when I want the dog to move out of my way so I don't trip over him and tumble down the staircase? Hmmm, "porch?" no. "Rock?" no. Meanwhile, you've fallen down the stairs and have lost consciousness. All the while the dog would have moved if you'd simply said, "excuse me".

3. Thuggery will not be tolerated.

Pack hierarchy is doggy pop psychology poppycock. Here's the way it is. You are the Top Dog. The human beings in the house outrank all the dogs. Dogs are not wolves. You don't have to slavishly follow some mysterious wild line of power. Feed the alpha dog first? Nonsense. Feed the dogs in the order that is convenient for you. Domesticated dogs live with people and are ruled by people. That means you are the almighty ruler.

Now, in the matter of day to day living, you don't want one dog pushing around another. Say, Suzy has a toy and Biff takes it away from her. The perception that we've been sold is that Biff outranks Suzy. That's the way it goes Suzy, deal with it. This is only sort of true. Here's the main thing. Biff is being pointlessly rude. He's being a thug. De-thug him. You take the toy. You want rank? You outrank Biff and Suzy and every other dog. Teach your dogs that being pushy and rude is not acceptable.

IMPORTANT NOTE. Thuggery is rude ruffian behavior. This differs greatly from potentially dangerous aggression. This is a difference you most likely cannot handle without professional help. If one of your dogs is aggressive- that is, growls and bears his teeth and threatens to bite- take heed. You may have to use a muzzle on the aggressor and/or keep him apart from other dogs until the problem can be properly addressed. Consult an expert. Not just Uncle Carl who is good with dogs. Consult an expert, preferably an Animal Behaviorist specializing in aggressive behavior. Your Veterinarian should be able to refer you.

These are just a few strategies to help keep the pack from running amok. Remember, the domesticated dog is not a wolf. Dogs live with people. The dog is pampered and fed and bossed around by people. It's people rules. Not wolf rules. Enjoy your bevy of dogs. But never forget that you are in charge. You might say, People Rule!

Recommended reading:

Feeling Outnumbered? How to Manage and Enjoy Your Multi-Dog Household
by Karen London, Ph.D and Patricia McConnell, Ph.D

The Dog's Mind by Bruce Fogle, D.V.M.

How to Speak Dog by Stanley Coren

Cute Critter Alert!

2011-03-04T08:40:00.002-05:00

This is a birth announcement! Aardvark Roxanne. Born January 8, 2011 at the Detroit Zoo.

To view a delightful video of Roxanne, visit www.detroitzoo.org/roxanne

Rose throws a wrench into the safety net

2011-02-27T08:05:00.001-05:00

It is wonderful to have a bunch of dogs. Each has his speciality or role in the household. One likes to play. Another is up for any adventure. Still another, is serious about guarding the house and grounds. Then, you have the cuddler.

Alas, with this gang of canine diversity comes a dark side. Example. Some of you may recall last fall, Lester underwent spinal disc repair. The bulged disc was removed and Lester made a fabulous recovery. But we've had to make some changes to keep Lester from blowing another disc.

The freedom he enjoyed for the past twelve years to jump up and down on the furniture has been terminated. Jumping up isn't so much the problem, you see. It's the jumping down. The motion of a dog's spine during the act of landing from a height is kind of like the beads on a necklace clanging against each other. Only the beads are Lester's discs and the necklace string is his spinal cord.

Thus, there are some new rules around here. And accompanying those rules is a physical barrier to punctuate the point. So Lester can be kept safe from clanging his beads, a gate has been put up between the dining and living rooms. The dining room has no sofa, stuffed chair, or ottoman to jump on, so Lester is holed up in there with a cozy blanket under the dining table.

Meanwhile, the rest of the pack can lounge on the furniture in the adjoining room. The other dogs didn't seem to flaunt their continued furniture privileges and Lester does not whine about it, even though he is wont to whine when dissatisfied.

Things went fine for weeks. But then a certain mixed breed of uncertain lineage (other than a theoretical certainty that there is some nosy bossy ever active TERRIER in there) named Rose, figured out how to penetrate the barrier. Here's the thing, Rose likes to move around the house. She keeps busy- up the stairs to mess up the bedspread. Then back down the stairs to mess up the pillows on the love seat. Next, down to the basement to mess up the blanket in her crate. These are the sorts of things on Rose's daily agenda. So clearly, this gate cramped her style. Never mind that the gate represents saving Lester's life, if you want to get all dramatic about it - and we do. Rose sees it differently. To Rose the gate represents oppression. "Mr. Gorbachev tear down this wall."

Motivated by an innate need for freedom, Rose addressed this impediment. Pretty soon, Rose was able to move the barrier just enough to stroll through. Since Lester is smaller than Rose, he figured out that he could follow suit. All of a sudden, there is Lester sitting on the ottoman! Alarm! If he is up there, he'll eventually jump down! Clanging disc beads!

Enter THO (husband/The Handsome One) and some hardware. Fittingly enough, the metal thingies are called "No nosing hardware for gate". So now, the unit doesn't look as pretty as the catalogue version of Mahogany Free Standing Dog Gate, what with the hook and all, but the barrier is secure. At least until Rose figures out how to rappel.

That's right. The intense little black dog with a touch of gray is none other than Rose.

Fun Stuff

2011-02-25T09:03:00.000-05:00

Us critters here at the Bad Dog Ranch live in Oakland County, Michigan. So we'd thought we'd pass along information about some fun stuff going on in our area.

(then scroll all the way down, if you dare)

****************

Oakland County Parks Upcoming Dog Programs and Events

A 2011 Annual Vehicle Permit or daily pass is required for park entry.
For more information contact Laurie Stasiak at 248.858.4929 or stasiakl@oakgov.com

March 6, Dog Park Etiquette, Red Oaks Dog Park 1-2:30 p.m.
Dogs may attend but must be on a 6 ft. leash.
Learn tips to help you and your dog get the most out of your dog park experience.
This 90 minute discussion will be led by Joanie Toole, Administrative Supervisor for the Oakland County Animal Control Division and the Oakland Pet Adoption Center.
The Oakland Pet Adoption Center has been aiding animals by providing shelter and care while trying to find them new, loving homes since 1980. The Oakland Pet Adoption Center is also a “no kill” shelter and works to find homes for the 10,000 animals they take in every year. Visit them at www.oakgov.com/petadoption or call 248.391.4100.

March 12, Canines, Coffee and Conversation, Lyon Oaks Dog Park 9-11:00 a.m.
Enjoy free coffee, treats and conversation with canines and friends!

April 9, Canines, Coffee and Conversation, Red Oaks Dog Park 9-11:00 a.m.
Enjoy free coffee, treats and conversation with canines and friends!

May 7, Canines, Coffee and Conversation, Orion Oaks Dog Park 9-11:00 a.m
Enjoy free coffee, treats and conversation with canines and friends!

May 7, Rattlesnake Recognition for Dog Owners, Orion Oaks Dog Park 11- 1:30 p.m.
Michigan's only venomous snake, and a species of special concern, the Eastern Massasauga Rattlesnake will be featured at an informal expo at the Orion Oaks Dog Park. Live snakes and other displays will help everyone identify this protected reptile. Dog owners will learn how to respond if they encounter a Massasauga Rattlesnake on the trail.

May 14, FidoFest, Red Oaks Dog Park 12-4:00 p.m.
Pet Expo featuring vendors, demonstrations and activity.

June 11, Canines, Coffee and Conversation, Lyon Oaks Dog Park 9-11:00 a.m.
July 2, Patriotic Pooches, Orion Oaks Dog Park
July 9, Canines, Coffee and Conversation, Red Oaks Dog Park 9-11:00 a.m.
July 31, Yappy Days Pet Expo, Orion Oaks Dog Park
Aug 6, Canines, Coffee and Conversation, Orion Oaks Dog Park 9-11:00 a.m.
September 10, Canines, Coffee and Conversation, Lyon Oaks Dog Park 9-11:00 a.m.
September 10, Dog Swim, Waterford Oaks – Pre-registration required
September 11, Dog Swim, Red Oaks – Pre-registration required
September 17, Rattlesnake Recognition for Dog Owners, Lyon Oaks 11- 1:30 p.m.
October 8, Canines, Coffee and Conversation, Red Oaks Dog Park 9-11:00 a.m.
October 15, Doggie Tailgating, Orion Oaks
October 22, Howl-o-ween, Lyon Oaks Dog Park 12-4:00 p.m.
November 5, Canines, Coffee and Conversation, Orion Oaks Dog Park 9-11:00 a.m.
December 10, Canines, Coffee and Conversation, Lyon Oaks Dog Park 9-11:00 a.m.

*************************** *********************************

Wondering why we're called Bad Dog Ranch?

This is just one reason.

Snowy Sounds

2011-02-22T15:11:00.001-05:00

A couple days ago approximately eight inches of snow fell here in southeast Michigan. That's enough snow to reasonably call a Snow Day. And since all it takes these days to call a Snow Day is the mere threat of eight inches of snow, actually receiving eight inches of snow gave the kids a Snow Day. So, when will they get out for summer? Around August 1st? But never mind the kids. They were all still in bed when Lois and I hit the driveway.

You may wonder, when does a dog walker walk her own dog? Well, this dog walker walks her dog first thing in the morning. Which explains why Lois and I were digging a path from the back door to the gate in the Monday morning dark. Once I dug the snow out surrounding the gate allowing exit from the backyard, I figured I might as well dig a path for my husband, The Handsome One's truck. My vehicle was safely tucked in the garage but the truck sat in the driveway covered with a thick pristine sparkly white. By the time I reached the truck's rear view mirror, I was on a roll so I kept shovelling towards the porch. (Fun fact: I am a back door gal. THO is a front door guy. Just goes to show- opposites attract.)

As I labored with the shovel, all around me was the amazing sound of snow. The stillness of it. The peaceful perfection of it. Somehow it mutes ordinary sound while at the same time, acoustically enhances it. The indistinct drone of a neighbor's voice over grass becomes clearly audible words over snow.

Two doors down a man ran a snow blower. Three doors down in the other direction that woman who never makes eye contact scurried around her little car. The snow blower was silent for a minute or two. Then like a bell, a single word exploded through the morning. "F*ck!" This was followed by silence and more of that calm stillness. Then the snow blower man took up a shovel and steady rhythmic scraping against concrete punctuated the calm.

This brings to mind other snowy sounds of note: "shrunch shrunch" is the sound of boots on packed snow at twenty degrees. "Shrork shork" is the sound boots make when it is ten degrees. At thirty-three degrees, a snowball striking a big dog's flank goes, "pthumptf".

Lois waited patiently while I shovelled. She stood inside the gate watching me and watching for the rabbit that seems to live under the tree stump near the driveway. We see the rabbit more often in winter. His gray-brown fur is easy to spot against a white back drop. When he moves through the snow the sound is a faint "zsit zsitp".

More on the bunny, later.

King Zack

2011-02-16T17:32:00.001-05:00

Zacharia is twenty-two years old. In snake years, that's senior citizen. Snakes aren't gifted with keen eyesight, even so, for the past few years, let's just say Zack has needed glasses. Only yesterday he tried to eat his own tail. Seriously.

Kingsnakes, like Zacharia, are what you might call "easy keepers". They are mellow enough to tolerate, maybe even enjoy, handling. As long as you maintain temperature in the range of 76 to 85 degrees, provide water, a place to hide, some light and some food, the snake should do well.

Kingsnakes are of the Family Colubridae. This is the largest of the snake families (subdivision of the suborder Serpentes). Colubridaes are mostly harmless snakes, that is, not very many are venomous or are likely to hurt you.

The group is quite varied to include burrowing snakes, constrictors, nocturnals, aquatics and so on. These snakes are considered "common" or "typical" in their snakeness. They are slender bodied and agile. (In contrast, the Boa Constrictor and the Anaconda are of the Family Boidae. These snakes are thicker in build and generally much longer in length.)

Kingsnakes are medium sized, three to six feet in length. The King designation is because of the not so insignificant fact that Kingsnakes are tough. They can, and do, overpower and eat Rattlesnakes.

The Kingsnake is a constrictor, which means they kill their prey by wrapping their body around the quarry and squeezing. The constriction doesn't crush the animal but with slow and steady pressure makes it impossible for the prey to expand their lungs to breathe. This of course, causes death. Then the snake swallows the victim whole.

Snakes are lovely pets: low maintenance, attractive, a joy to hold- literally. No, snakes are not slimy (unless it's an Anaconda fresh from a swim and only a crazy person would keep a pet snake big enough to eat you).

Once a Kingsnake is accustomed to being handled he usually is gentle and enchanting. When handled, Zacharia moves slowly along and coils around my hand or arm, his strength and beauty on display. The only time Zack doesn't appreciate being handled is just after he eats, mostly because he is sort of lumpy after swallowing five mice.

Because Zacharia was captive born, he's never had to hunt down and constrict critters for his meals. As a baby snake, he was fed dead baby mice. As he grew, the size of the rodent meal grew too. Zack the adolescent snake, ate baby rat. As an adult, he eats adult mice, five at a time about once a month.
How do you know when he's hungry? He stops pooping. Honestly. It takes some weeks for a snake to digest. And no, I don't catch mice in my garage and slit their little throats to feed my snake. It's all very civilized. Frozen mice are available for purchase at the local pet store. When it's time to feed, the mice sit in a pretty bowl till they thaw out. Then I drop them into Zack's cage and hang around till he's swallowed all the mice to be sure he doesn't accidentally swallow his own tail.

Recommended reading:
"The General Care and Maintenance of Common Kingsnakes" by David Perlowin
"The Book of Snakes" by Thomas Leetz

http://www.desertusa.com/magfeb98/feb_pap/du_kingsnake.html

Lurchers

2011-02-09T10:00:00.002-05:00

Lurchers are mixed breed dogs. They consist of a sight hound crossed with another breed or breeds, most commonly Herding or Terrier types. Thus you may find a Greyhound/Collie or an Irish Wolfhound/Old English Sheepdog combo. Or maybe a Whippet and a Norfolk Terrier or a Saluki and a Norwich Terrier. The possible combinations are mind boggling!

The dictionary definition: lurcher (LUR cher) noun

-British a crossbred dog used by poachers

-Archaic a sneak thief

Lurchers first appeared in the British Isles. Back in medieval days, laws prohibited commoners from owning purebred dogs. Since they needed dogs to assist in hunting, commoners developed the Lurcher.

Many Lurchers helped their owners to poach game such as hares and rabbits (and perhaps the king's herd of deer). The penalty for poaching was severe. So naturally a fast dog was especially handy.

Bands of Gypsies made use of Lurchers but some considered only the short haired Lurcher acceptable as that indicated a predominance of Greyhound blood. The overly hairy dogs were deemed "lesser" due to a belief that they lacked the speed and endurance that the Greyhound based Lurcher possessed.

Today's Lurchers are typically bred by mating Lurchers to Lurchers. Coursing is illegal now in many countries including England and Scotland. But Coursing Clubs remain active elsewhere where Lurchers are big winners in coursing events. When not enjoying a good run, modern Lurchers enjoy couch time with their people.

Not surprisingly, there is no breed standard for the Lurcher. Personality, coat type, size and such will vary widely based on what breeds are in the mix. It's a good bet however, that a Lurcher will be inclined to chase critters he sees. Also, the sweet gentleness of the average sight hound is bound to be present, as is lankiness and a deep chest with big lung capacity vital for heavy duty running.

For more information on Lurchers and some cool photos and artwork, visit:

http://www.celticlurchers.com/aboutlurchers.htm

Groundhog Day Cancelled Due to Snow

2011-02-02T08:31:00.001-05:00

In a shining display of stunning pointlessness, we regret the possible cancellation of Groundhog Day. It snowed, you see. Even though it is winter and all, we must not venture out there. Maybe not even for a silly routine like the annual Groundhog Show.

Groundhog P. Phil made the following statement:

Look folks, this whole predicting with a shadow stuff got tedious long ago. I disliked being trotted out for this useless exhibition the moment it first happened to me.

Just flip a coin, will ya?

Remembering Aunt Jean

2011-01-31T14:54:00.001-05:00

Over many years, I have driven passed St. Germaine Church, biked passed it, even once attended a fair in the parking lot. Finally, I stepped inside St. Germaine Church. The reason: to attend a mass in memory of Jean Volkmann. Lots of familiar faces there, most older than I remember them. But then, maybe we are all older than we remember.

Had I been asked to speak, I would have remarked that Aunt Jean was only five feet tall but I refrained from spelling salutations to her: Ant Jean. She preferred AJ.

Aunt Jean was a person who delighted in information and was eager to share what she knew. She usually had an opinion, and was not shy about sharing that either. As I was growing up, we saw each other quite often. Our families got together for Christmas, camping, meals. I had just the one Aunt and her three children were my only cousins. They lived all of a mile away; a five minute bike ride away.

When I was a senior in high school my parents left me and my brother Mark home while they took a vacation commemorating their 25th wedding anniversary. Taking advantage of this chance to be truant without being a truant, I called the school saying I was an official type parental authority and it was OK with me that Lynn didn't go to school that day. My folks had given the school Aunt Jean's number for emergency contact. The school called her and she called me.

"Did you really think you'd get away with it?" AJ asked. I could practically see her rolling her eyes through the phone. "Next time just ask me to call in for you, for crying out loud."

When Aunt Jean and Uncle Paul retired they moved Up North. We didn't see much of each other for years but she never forgot my birthday. When AJ got a hold of my email address, I was regaled with assorted information, jokes, pictures of cute animals and Patriotism. As a kid, I wasn't aware of AJ's political leanings. Via email I learned how much she loved our Country and how well she understood the importance of Freedom.

A few years ago, AJ had a heart attack. I called her at the hospital. I'm not terribly talented at small talk. Even in her weakened state, Aunt Jean took control of the conversation. "So, how many dogs do you have now?" She asked. Not -how's business or have you seen any good movies lately. Aunt Jean cut to the important stuff.

Aunt Jean was a Master Gardener before it became the common achievement of hardcore hobbyists. And she liked her cars. Indeed, you were chastised if you leaned on the paint job- most especially a rust colored Mustang. But the paint color wasn't called rust. It was called something much cooler like Crimson Sunset or Burnt Reality. And she loved Uncle Paul. She said so, often. "I dig Paul."

Yes, Aunt Jean and I agreed on some important things- dogs most decidedly. Dogs are a critical component of life. Oh sure, most people are nice and a handful of them are particularly wonderful but dogs are the most important creatures to grace our existence. For instance, Mayo and Tassie.

My cousin Cory found Mayo in the street. In the classic-he followed me home can we keep him- tradition Mayo joined their family. Mayo was an easy going blond medium sized mutt. He was a stray of unknown history and lineage. He was also one of the nicest dogs there ever was.

Tassie was AJ's favorite. Years after Tassie died, Aunt Jean said she still missed her with that extra heavy ache of separation we save for our most beloved. Tassie was an Australian Cattle Dog. Aunt Jean claimed that unlike most dogs, Cattle Dog saliva was not sticky. When Tassie licked you it was completely free of unpleasant texture. I never really believed that was true but I believe that where AJ and Tassie are now, it is true.

Rest in Peace, AJ.

Fearful Dog Lucks Out

2011-01-26T08:59:00.000-05:00

Please see a great blog on approaching a scared dog.

Karen Workman happened upon a dog in need and shined.

http://opdogblog.blogspot.com/2011/01/getting-lost-fearful-dog-to-come-to-you.html?showComment=1296050303944#c1536129477332977630

Brice's Bites

2011-01-25T08:23:00.000-05:00

Brice is a real estate appraiser. To do his job, he must enter a property and move about inside the home. What with all the foreclosures, Brice has been busy.

A few months ago, Brice complained of being bitten by a Toy Poodle. Only yesterday, he said he was bitten by an "English sheep dog". Brice is a good guy but I'm not convinced that he'd recognize an Old English Sheepdog if one walked up and bit him. Oh, wait.

Breed aside, Brice asked my advice on how he can avoid being bitten in the future. Here's what probably won't work:

1. Tell them you are afraid of dogs. Both times Brice was bitten, the owners told him the dog was "harmless" and the mad barking was nothing to worry about. People who are that rude to someone who made an appointment with them to enter their home, isn't likely to soften into kindness if they think you're scared. They already have the advantage: a dog with teeth. Don't give them more ammunition. And we must acknowledge the very real possibility that there is some hostility present. Let's face it, if your home is being foreclosed upon, Brice is the symbol. And if you don't believe a dog can sense hostility in their owner and who it is aimed at- you are living in a dream world.

2. Tell them a pack of dogs that looks exactly like theirs attacked your village. You were the only survivor. They'll say, no no this is a white Poodle. Only the apricot Poodles are vicious.

3. Appeal to good manners/gosh, I can't hear you while your dog barks in my face. Sorry, anybody who lets their dog abuse a guest, even a not terribly welcome guest like a plumber or an appraiser, is deaf to the notion of being polite.

4. Employ Baby Talk at the dog. Brice admits to trying this. It got him bit by the quasi Sheepdog. While it is true that some dogs respond to baby talk, most dogs with good sense are repulsed by it.

5. Don't look the dog in the eye. This is a good habit for most encounters with a dog you don't know. It suggests that you are not out to challenge the dog. However, if you are there in the dog's territory and you avoid looking at him while still moving boldly about- well- that got Brice bitten. Unless you follow up by dropping to the floor with your belly vulnerable like a submissive puppy, the whole eye contact thing may be moot in this instance.

6. Stop reeking of cat. Brice has a cat. He wonders if the dog is reacting violently to the aroma of said pussy. Doubtful. Most dogs are aware of the damage claws can do. But more importantly, even with his eyes closed, a dog can tell the difference between a cat and a man who smells like a cat.

So what is Brice to do?

The thing is, the people who tell guests that their barking dog is harmless often didn't bother to tell the dog that. Dog Trainers have a name for it: Socialization. Part of teaching your dog includes showing him when it is OK for a stranger to come into his space. Some dogs don't magically get the nuance without explanation. Then folks like Brice suffer.

My best advice for Brice in his quest to go unbitten is to tell the dog owner that it is company policy that all dogs be contained during the appraisal, for liability reasons.

Good luck, Brice.

Aw shucks

2011-01-22T08:51:00.001-05:00

As a proud recipient of the Stylish Blogger Award, it is fitting that I say a few words. Well, write a few words. Blog a few words. OK, I'll get on with it.

Thank you Rena for this honor. It would seem that I am to follow a bunch of rules now. For these rules, see Unruly Comment: http://www.renajtraxel.blogspot.com/ Blog Award.

Now that we've all read the rules, I will comply, somewhat.

Some facts about me:

1. I live with my husband THO (The Handsome One) and naturally, a slew of pets. Among them are dogs, of course, including Lois who appears with me in my profile picture. We were both younger then.

2. My favorite color is pink. Cotton candy pink to be precise.

3. I have written two unpublished novels.

4. I walk dogs for a living while shamelessly using my experiences as fodder for my current literary effort: A Dog Walker's Tale.

5. It is difficult for me to sit still for long due to an inclination toward puttering.

2011-01-13T07:48:00.000-05:00

In the days before radio and stereo and those I Pod things, people kept caged birds for their song. Maybe this is why Canaries aren't the popular pet they used to be. That seems sad. Talk about live music! Call me old fashioned. Call me a throw back. But don't call me late for...never mind.

I've had the privilege of living with a Canary. Jean-Pierre would burst into song frequently and spontaneously. His voice was soothing, melodic and darn wonderful to behold. Whenever he sang, it was a lot like when somebody you're fond of reaches out and touches your forearm. A small gesture that reminds you that everything is all right. A little Canary has that power.

Jean-Pierre passed away leaving our home without song. He is survived by four Zebra Finches. Zebra Finches have a different vibe than Canaries. The Zebras are more active, you might say, more flighty. They don't sing but sort of chirp and break into short riffs. Often these vocalizations are in response to sounds in the house. The beep that announces that the coffee is done causes a mild ruckus. Sneezing and nose blowing makes them chatter. What's interesting is, it doesn't seem to be a certain tone or pitch that sets them off. The oven timer rarely makes them cheep and it is close in sound to the coffee maker timer, at least to my non avian ears.

These birds share a house with dogs. Yes, barking makes the birds join in the alarm but only the biggest dog's bark. That deep big dog bark - a far cry from the high pitched coffee maker beep.

Finches are interactive speakers. I haven't figured out the pattern to the outbursts. Guess that's part of the fun. More fun than an i Pod.

Safety Hurts

2011-01-05T16:23:00.001-05:00

I had a sinus headache. You know the ones that hit one side of your head in a focused way. Like behind one eye. The pain is so awful you think you might even throw up. So I took a pill. Or tried to. Safety packets. Thank you for keeping me safe from the rouge wacko that I have a one in a billion chance of encountering!

Meanwhile, I can't get the dang package open to relieve my headache. There comes a time when you are very willing to risk being poisoned by the random act of a sicko just on the off chance of getting relief from your pain. Please someone sell me pills not in an inaccessible safety packet!

The packets holding the sinus headache pills have instructions on them which are small and hard to read. My headache made it even harder to read. OK, fold the corner than grab a tiny piece of foil and pull. I couldn't grip it. I used tweezers. The foil tore. Crazed, I stabbed the foil with the tweezers. This pulverized one of the pills. And the safety packet was still more or less intact. Leaving me still pill less. My headache remained.

Another day another pain. The pill to ease arthritis pain is in a bottle with a child proof lid. Never mind that there are no children in my house. It ever so reassuring to know that any child passing by will be kept safe from my pills. To open the bottle you must push down while turning. My knuckles are what hurts and the reason I'm opening the stupid bottle. But I can't push and turn to open the confounded bottle without adding pain to the very knuckles that are seeking pain relief from the bottle.

Morning mouth is a common occurrence. You awaken and your mouth has an unpleasant stale taste. Swish a little mouthwash and freshness is achieved. But first you must get to the mouthwash. To do so, squeeze the plastic lid- just so, as you turn -just so. One morning after repeated attempts failed to result in an open bottle, I took the bottle into the garage. I plugged in the Sawz-all. I secured the bottle in a vice. Figuring the Sawz-all blade designed for cutting metal was up to the job, I lopped the top off the bottle just under the lid.

Yes, I know. Safety Breach Alert! If Lindsey Lohan should break out of rehab again and she should happen to wander in and around my home downing the baking vanilla, the cooking sherry, the peroxide, then finds the open bottle of mouthwash under the sink in the master bathroom, it will be all my fault.

Sorry about that.

Drool Too Two

2010-12-29T13:18:00.001-05:00

As you may recall, our last visit to the Drool Zone promised more watery discussion. So, without any more delay, let's explore why dogs drool.

Remember Pavlov's dog? Ivan Petrovitch Pavlov was attempting to prove conditioned reflex by showing a dog some meat while ringing a bell. The dog drooled because his mouth anticipated eating the meat. Automatically the dog's mouth produced the juice to aid in digestion.

Eventually, the dog would salivate upon hearing only the bell. Pavlov figured people had the same tendencies, not so much drooling, but the conditioned reflex stuff. Had Pavlov done his experiments with humans rather than dogs, the volume of spit would have been more difficult to measure and Pavlov may not have won the Nobel Prize in Physiology and Medicine in 1904.

As we know, dogs have more reservoirs of saliva available to them than people do. This is why we notice the drool factor in dogs that leads to the distressing appearance of glumps of spit on walls and assorted other surfaces in the home.

What is most fascinating to observe drool wise, is when the drool becomes thickened and hangs from the dog's jowls. This strand of saliva has the remarkable ability to stretch, sometimes to great lengths. Then this string swings precariously. You may chase it with a dishcloth hoping to catch it before it lands somewhere but it is difficult to predict its sticky trajectory. This phenomenon is known as the Pendulum of Yuck.

Bon appetit.

Save the Cookies

2010-12-24T13:05:00.000-05:00

Christmas offers a lovely excuse to bake cookies to share and enjoy. The other day, after some merry baking, I'd just finished bagging up some cookies to give. There were several left so I arranged them attractively on a pretty plate with a holly design. Strolling jauntily, humming a holiday tune, I headed to the dining room to display the cookies in the fancy cake dish.

Then I tripped. On the way down I did a one quarter turn- no doubt it was an unconscious desperate attempt to save the cookies. The cookies and the gorgeous holly plate took flight from my left hand. I landed on my right side, my arm pinned under me. My shoulder absorbed most of the force. It hurt a lot. I lay there thinking: please don't be a rotator cuff injury.

The cookies were strewn on the rug. How fortunate that I'd vacuumed the day before. The dog hair will be at a minimum. I sat up and noted that the beautiful holly plate appeared unharmed. My husband appeared. "Oh my God!" he said. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes." I pointed at the cookie carnage. "Save the cookies!"

As he gathered the broken cookies and reassembled them on the festive holly plate, our dogs drew near. They had been silently watching this little drama and wanted a part of the unexpected bounty. Like hyenas circling ever closer to a lion's kill, they moved in. A glare from this wounded lioness convinced them to retreat. My husband placed the damaged cookies on the resplendent holly plate in the cake dish.

"OK. Go ahead." I told the dogs. A few Shortbread crumbs wouldn't hurt them. Cookies are made to be enjoyed and shared.

Don't Eat the Poinsettias

2010-12-17T05:53:00.000-05:00

At this festive time of year, let us be alert to everyday dangers!

The following are common poisons that your pet is likely to encounter.

1. Accidental ingestion of medications.
2. Rodenticides (rat poison)
3. Methylanthine toxicity (Chocolate)
4. Plant poisoning
5. Household chemicals
6. Metaldehyde (slug bait)
7. Insecticide
8. Heavy Metals (lead and zinc coins)
9. Toad poisoning (buffa toad Florida)
10. Antifreeze
11. Walnut poisoning
12. Alcohol
13. Strychine

(List compiled by Veterinary Pet Insurance Co.)

http://lacetoleather.com/fataltodogs.html

ASPCA Animal Poison Control Center: 1-800-548-2423

For classes and/Pet First Aid booklet visit: AmericanRedCross.org

for further information on general pet care
http://www.warrenanimalclinic.com/

Customer Service with a Patronizing Touch

2010-12-15T15:19:00.000-05:00

As did presumably all other addressees served by the Royal Oak Post Office, I received a letter a couple days ago. It was from Jeff Helmuth, Postmaster.

The Letter read: "Dear Postal Customer,

The United States Postal Service is determined not to have a repeat of last year's record number of accidents caused by snow and icy conditions.

It will be necessary for you to remove the ice and snow from your steps sidewalks and porches within 24 hours of each snowfall. If conditions are unsafe, carriers are instructed to suspend delivery and bring the mail back to the Post Office.

Your carrier strives for complete customer satisfaction and this includes daily delivery of your mail. Please assist your carrier in staying healthy and safe this winter. "

I don't know how everybody feels about this, but I'll bet I'm not the only one who is offended. You can just see Jeff the Postmaster shaking his finger as he orders you to clear your snow now! Accidents in wintry weather are all your fault! Shame shame double shame!

Can you imagine if you received such a letter from FedEx or UPS? You'd stop using their service and switch to a company that treats you with respect. When an organization thinks they are superior to the customer and lets it show- than the customers leave. Could it be, that more customers would leave if the Postal Service was not a government entity?

My mail was delivered a few minutes ago. My carrier isn't talking on the phone or smoking a cigarette. She is focused on delivering the mail to the houses on her route. She is wearing rugged walking boots, a warm coat, gloves and a hat. In other words, dressed for the weather and her job. Evidently my property was adequately clean of treacherous ice because the mail carrier placed the mail in the mailbox and departed in a vertical manner.

No doubt Postmaster Jeff has noticed that weather conditions occur. Here we are in southeast Michigan and it is December. A few days ago we had rain. Then the temperature dropped to below freezing. Then it snowed. Then the sun shone. Then overnight the temperature dropped to the teens. This makes for challenging clean up to prepare for those who deliver in rain and sleet and dark of -what was that slogan again? Notice they don't use it anymore.

I sincerely hope that nobody slips and falls out there in the dangerous outside. Meanwhile, we grown ups do the best we can to clear a safe path for all. We do it even if we are not told to by a government bureaucrat.

Bubba the Cat

2010-12-13T06:00:00.001-05:00

Some cats live a wild life. Literally. They are just as wild as the squirrels or the sparrows or the skunks. Feral cats are the offspring of domestic cats that have, shall we say, run away from home. Feral cats also come from non neutered house cats that are allowed to roam and impregnate wild cats. Some feral cats live in colonies.

There was one such colony in my own neighborhood, one street over. A bunch of cats lived in an unused garage. Who knows how many. Dozens? Hundreds? It's tempting to say, so what? Cats have just as much right to live as raccoons or bumblebees. Sure they do. But here's the thing. These wild cats must eat. Among other things, this threatens the songbird population. In fact, one day I saw a wild cat with a baby rabbit in it's mouth right under my backyard bird feeder. You may say, this is good. Keep the varmint population in check. I say, that's what hawks are for.

Feral cats use my flower beds as their toilet. Nobody comes up behind them with a plastic bag to pick it up, the way I do with my dogs. And if I let my dogs run wild and mate willy nilly, there would be complaints from the neighbors. All I'm saying is, that all cat owners need to be responsible for their pets. If they were, there would be no feral cats.

But this is about Bubba. Let's talk about Bubba. About four years ago a wild litter of cats was born. One of these kittens was a black and white boy with green eyes. A nice lady took this kitten in and her young son named him Bubba. The boy loved Bubba and wanted to hold him and pet him and overall, treat him like a house cat. Though Bubba seemed to tolerate this good fortune, he escaped the first chance he got. He was found and coaxed close enough to be grabbed and returned to his luxurious prison. You guessed it, he escaped again. And again. Each time it was more difficult to recapture Bubba.

The boy's mother actually camped out in front of my house one night in hopes of spotting Bubba and returning him to caring captivity. Bubba was having none of it. He was born wild and chose to live wild.

Bubba is fairly long lived for a feral cat. After four, or is it five years now? I still see him now and then, under a car in a driveway or walking down the sidewalk. How does he live? Kindly folks put cat food on their back porches. Does Bubba supplement his diet with songbirds and garbage picking? How many children do you suppose he has sired by now?

For more information on feral cats:
feral cat allies- http://www.pgaa.com/feline/general/feralallie.html
for facebook users: http://www.allaboutanimalsrescue.com/

Caution: Drool Zone

2010-12-08T11:13:00.001-05:00

Anyone who has ever experienced a Newfoundland or Saint Bernard up close has noticed that things tend to be particularly moist. All dogs drool, of course, but some dogs have a style of mouth that flows more freely.

A dog's saliva lubricates food to help move it down the throat, much like it does in the human mouth. The sub lingual gland runs just below the bottom teeth with openings for oozing saliva from front to back. Keeping supplies of the wet stuff is no problem, in both man and beast there are also salivary glands behind the throat (parotid) and below the cheek (mandibular). Dogs have extra water power with a gland under the eyes (zygomatic).

What makes some dogs's faces seem extra damp is mostly due to lip style. The looser the lips are the more liquid can drip out. With so many breeds of dogs, come variety in head shape, jaw and teeth structure, coat type, etc. So it's no surprize that there are different lip types.

Notice, for instance, the difference between a Bull Terrier's lips and a Bullmastiff's lips. Lips are the fleshy areas that surround the mouth cavity, they tend to be a different color than the other skin. In dogs the lips may be less noticeable because the muzzle surrounds and sometimes over shadows the lips. Some dogs have a hanging muzzle like a Bloodhound, you have to search for the lips. In a stubby muzzle, like a Pug's, the lower lip is obvious but the upper lip in obscured by the muzzle. A Borzoi's smooth tapering style muzzle leaves the lips easy to see.

The skin that hangs from the muzzle around the lips is called the flew. The flew is that flap of skin that is able to fling spittle with a shake of the head.

Size matters too. A Boxer has pretty loose lips but so does Mastiff. And bigger dogs have bigger mouths and bigger glands. The better to soak you with the old head in your lap trick.

Just why do dogs drool? Stay tuned. In the next installment of Drool Theater we'll visit the Pendulum of Yuck.

Icy Procrastination

2010-11-30T06:18:00.000-05:00

Though there are very few downsides to having dogs rather than children, one is that you can't make your dog rake leaves. Leaf blower? No thank you. Whenever I'm besieged by the sound of a leaf blower, I feel like I'm in an old Star Trek episode. Alien forces are attacking the Enterprise with sound waves. Kirk and the crew grab their heads in agony, fall down and writhe until they pass out. Someday I'll join in the drama on my front lawn. So far I've refrained because I'm pretty sure my neighbors think I'm a little odd, why confirm their suspicions.

Leaf rakes work very well in moving fallen leaves around. They require no power other than muscle. And they are less likely to cause writhing than are leaf blowers. Procrastinate on raking leaves in November and in March the leaves will still be there, sodden. Then you must stomp on the mushy ground to remove them. This is not recommended.

You can put off indoor chores. Do your spring cleaning in summer? Why not! Most outdoor chores have a smaller window. Take the rain barrel, for example. As we all know, water freezes into ice. Leave your rain barrels out too far into fall and you have rock hard barrels. The hull of the barrel is then exposed to the damaging stress of expansion. When things finally thaw out you have a leaky rain barrel. This is not recommended.

Music to the ears

2010-11-24T09:54:00.000-05:00

Let's get this out of the way first: yes, it's true. I frequently sing Show Tunes while on the job. Luckily I'm a dog walker, so the complaints are few.

Lyrics stick with me. It's a gift. And a joy. Even so, when it comes to selecting music to listen to, most of the time I choose instrumental Classical music. Since I'm most drawn to Baroque and Classical styles, maybe it's the strict patterns that I find pleasant or perhaps, soothing. After all, once the Romantics and Moderns got into the act, things went looser and well, less soothing.

A Jazz enthusiast once got in my face; calling me uptight, conventional and unimaginative. Jokingly, I suggested that because I go to bed early, I've never experienced real live jazz in smoky night clubs. Therefore, I never learned to fully appreciate jazz. That explanation fell on deaf ears. Instead I was deemed too closed off emotionally to appreciate the spontaneous innovation of jazz. That's just plain poppycock. If I was closed off emotionally I wouldn't be inclined to lustful thoughts of Gene Kelly.

But lets return to our musical discussion. It could be, that my ears prefer to separate sensations. Voice is meant to be more wild and free. While strings and woodwinds and pianos sound better with more structure. Give me scatting Mel Torme' or Ella Fitzgerald. But keep the piano Mozart.

Maybe music is like religion to some folks. That would explain the Jazz Zealot's heartwarming inclusion and acceptance toward other musical faiths. Like most things, of course, it's not all that complicated. What is music to you may not be music to somebody else. It's really just a matter of keeping the volume down low enough not to force others to listen and just high enough to enjoy it yourself.

As for me, I shall sing 'Whistle a Happy Tune' and 'I'm Called Little Buttercup' while I walk and listen to The Brandenburg Concertos while I drive. As I type this, Yo Yo Ma and Emanuel Ax play Beethoven.

Rock on.

Legal Issues/ dog breeders

2010-11-19T08:59:00.001-05:00

The American Kennel Club Government Relations group tracks activity by the US Congress in matters of importance to dog owners. One of the bills being considered during the current lame duck session is:

H.R.5434 – This legislation, known as the Puppy Uniform Protection and Safety (PUPS) Act, would require all breeders who breed and sell more than 50 puppies in a 12-month period to be regulated under USDA dog dealer regulations. Requirements would include obtaining an annual USDA license, maintaining minimum federal standards of care, and regular inspections at least biennially. It also would require that breeding dogs receive daily access to exercise that is sufficient to maintain normal muscle tone and mass, the ability to achieve a running stride, and is not a forced activity. The AKC has expressed a number of concerns with the measure and will keep owners and breeders up to date on any changes in the bill’s status. S.3424 has been assigned to the Senate Committee on Agriculture, Nutrition, & Forestry. H.R. 5434 is assigned to the House Committee on Agriculture. No hearings have been scheduled for either bill.

---

This bill is in response to the "puppy mills" that have gained notoriety through assorted media sources. It is surely a well meaning attempt to save unfortunate puppies that suffer through the shocking neglect by a minority of large scale breeders.

As is usually the case in adding federal standards and regulations, this will put many kind and honest smaller scale breeders out of business due to the extra expenses to comply. Consider: How much does this license cost? And who do you think pays for the inspection? The breeder. Then the breeder must charge more for his puppies. And if he can't sell the overpriced puppies?

Government is micromanaging banks, motor vehicles, insurance, food, medicines and now dog breeding?! How many industries are going to stagger at the brink of extinction before we realize that just because a law appears to do good doesn't make it a good idea?

for more information: http://www.akc.org/enewsletter/taking_command/2010/november/nation.cfm

Tail of Two Surgeries, Part 3

2010-11-14T10:25:00.000-05:00

Two years later, everything is just peachy. Then one morning Lester is acting worried. Was this just that quirky Chihuahua behavior we have come to expect from him? No, this was different and brought on a horrible case of deja vu. Yes, sometimes you just know something bad is going to happen- again. A little while later Lester is arching his back like he is in pain. Then his front legs got that jerky out of control look. His legs and body went out of sync.

Off we go to Commerce and the Animal Neurology and MRI Center. Dr. Galle is on duty. As he shakes my hand he remarks that I look familiar. Then it dawns on him and he says, sorry this happened to you again. Some ten percent of disc cases reoccur. The luck of Lester!

The MRI confirms that it's a disc herniation. This time it's at C3-4, right next door to the last disc misadventure.

Lester's recovery was quicker this time. Old dogs and new tricks? Dr Galle said Lester was trying to get up on his front legs as he was coming out of his anesthetic stupor. A few days later, Lester walked out of there.

*****
Heartfelt Thanks to Dr. Galle and the wonderful staff at Animal Neurology.
http://www.animalneurology.com/

Tail of Two Surgeries, Part 2

2010-11-10T08:58:00.000-05:00

Turns out, Lester had a pain in the neck. All those times, when he flinched upon being touched on his neck or shoulder, we put it down to nervous Chihuahua behavior. Maybe the poor guy has had a sore neck for years. Under that fur coat was a bulging disc laying against, agitating delicate nerve endings. That would make just about anybody act like a nervous Chihuahua.

Here's the thing about spinal discs- they are like jelly doughnuts. The outside of the doughnut is attached to the disc bones. Running along side of the row of doughnut stuffed discs is the spinal cord. Sometimes the jelly oozes out of a doughnut and bumps up against the spinal cord. Pain occurs. Infringement of motion occurs. This is what happened to Lester.

The surgeon goes in and removes the disc material (doughnut jelly) taking the pressure off of the spinal cord. The cushion (outside of the doughnut) is still there. Now the discs aren't clanging against each other, there is just less buoyancy in the material between the discs then before the insides of the doughnut squirted out.

The incision was, interestingly, on the front of Lester's neck. With his hair shaved and that long scar running down his neck he would have looked pretty bad ass if he wasn't wearing a diaper.

The first two weeks post op, Lester was on bed rest. For a dog, this means confined to his crate. Lester was allowed out of his crate only to relieve himself. For that event, he needed help standing up. So he wore his seat belt harness. The loop on top of the harness, designed to attach to a vehicle's seat belt, worked dandy for Lester's toilette. A pretty pink scarf looped through the harness loop for the human helper to hold on to and Lester had stability to stand and "go".

Trouble is, Lester didn't always go while in this rig. Thus the diaper.

At our vet visit two weeks after surgery, Lester's staples were removed. What ever happened to stitches? No matter. Though one envisions an office claw style staple remover, the vet tech whipped out what looked more like heavy duty cuticle scissors.

The vet examined Lester and said because he has feeling in his limbs and is able to stand, albeit with a precarious sway, most likely he would in time return to full motion. We were to simply allow Lester to practice walking and get his balance back. "It's OK if he falls," Dr. Galle told me. That's when I knew Lester would be fine. That one sentence broke through my protective maternal mind, that Lester is not so fragile and oh so not helpless. I had to let him walk and let him fall.

Indeed, as soon as we got home, Lester staggered around our backyard, his muscles waking with each jerky step.

Lester was treated at Animal Neurology & MRI Center in Commerce, MI.

http://www.animalneurology.com/

A Tail of Two Surgeries, Part 1

2010-11-01T14:58:00.000-04:00

Lester is probably a Chihuahua. He's not one of those four pound apple heads you see at the Dog Show though. Lester is more of the street smart Taco Bell style of Chihuahua. You might say he picked me out. Some years ago, my husband and I set out to add to our pack. Dennis envisioned a goofy fun loving lab mix. He found one. But she grew up to be a terrier mix.

Anyway, while Dennis and his faux lab mix were eyeing each other, a small tan green-eyed little hoodlum stared me down. Thus we added to our pack with two puppies rather than one. (Our older dog gave us dirty looks for months.)

After eleven years of joyful togetherness we discovered, darn the luck, Lester has what you might call wimpy discs. It was an ordinary weekday. Dennis and I were dressing for work and noticed that Lester was walking funny. He was wobbling, having trouble keeping his balance. He yelped. Then his legs didn't work at all.

Off to the vet we go. She referred us to a veterinary neurology specialist. The availability of specialists is relatively new to small animal veterinary medicine. When I was a kid we had a Snoodle named Marsha. One morning her hind legs didn't work anymore. The vet said maybe she'll get better but probably not. We kept her quiet and hoped she'd heal. Every time we had to move her she bit us because of the pain she was in. Marsha's story does not end well. But in the thirty-five or so years since Marsha's disc tragedy, veterinarians have brought the MRI and surgery to the mainstream.

Thus, Lester is alive and walking today.

October was Surgery Month

2010-11-01T09:22:00.000-04:00

At least it seemed that way to me. My dog, Lester underwent ruptured disc repair two weeks ago and just last week, my mother underwent heart surgery.

So, yesterday I'm visiting Mom in the Intensive Care Unit. As hospital rooms go, this one was pretty nice. The TV was on but happily, the sound was off. The beep beep of the heart monitor is enough ambient sound for any one room.

A man wearing a lab coat appears saying he is Dr. So and so and was referred here but doesn't know why. Talk about confidence inspiring. He's a "stomach doctor" he says and opens a binder with about four inches of paper in it. He flips some pages and says again that he doesn't know why he is there.

He looks at my mother and says, "so you've had surgery? Heart surgery?"

Now, my mother is lying there with the incision on her chest partially showing above her gown. She is clutching a red valentine heart shaped pillow with a picture of a human heart on it. I almost laughed but the horror of it all smothered that impulse pretty quickly.

Then stomach doctor asks my mother if she has nausea. She says yes. Well, stomach doctor says, you have had surgery so nausea is quite likely. How old are you? My mother tells him. The woman is so doped up, I'm impressed she can remember her age. Then I glance at her arm which bears a hospital bracelet. Her age is listed right under her name. You gotta believe that somewhere in that four inches of referral information stomach doctor is looking at, the patent's age is mentioned.

Dr Stomach asks what surgery did you have? My mother says they repaired a valve and did a bi pass. What valve? Mom doesn't know. Stomach doctor chides her- you should know these things! His eyes meet mine accusingly. I shrug. The kindly nurse who has been hovering all the while says she doesn't know which valve it was either! One assumes the surgeon was savvy to which valve a couple days ago when he opened up my mother's chest.

Meanwhile my mother is fighting to stay awake to undergo further questioning by the hapless stomach doctor. The helpful nurse flitters in waving a piece of paper and exclaims, it was the Mitral valve! OK says Dr. Stomach, you'll be nauseated for a while, that's normal. He leaves.

I say to my mother, "nice bedside manner, eh?"

"I don't know," says Mom, "I thought he was kind of cute."

This was my cue to leave and let the patient sleep.

Book Review

2010-10-22T09:44:00.000-04:00

Dialogues with Dogs by Bruce Fogle
copyright 2006

The book feels like a condensed version of some of his other books. There is very little new information and it comes across as a half hearted effort. The illustrations are OK but are more distracting than entertaining.

Skip this book and read Fogle's "The Dog's Mind". (1990) The dog's brain is discussed including explanations of hormones, early learning and maturity.

Dr. Fogle combines his years as a veterinarian with scientific studies to help the reader understand the goings on in the dog's mind. Behaviors such as aggression and phobias are explained . The information is presented fully yet is easily understood by even the least scientifically inclined.

Bo, lead us!

2010-10-11T09:23:00.000-04:00

American Thinker article : Obama fails as 'pack leader' says dog expert
by David Paulin

President Obama's approval rating is at a record-low among Americans - yet he remains popular abroad and at the United Nations. What accounts for this perception gap? Obama is popular abroad because he is weak -- and so is America under his leadership, noted the London Telegraph.

More evidence that Obama is a pushover is now being provided from an unlikely source -- the first family's dog "Bo." Recently, dog expert Cesar Millan of the "Dog Whisperer" TV show observed that Obama has failed to assert himself as a "pack leader" with Bo, a Portuguese Water Dog. Millan pointed out that when Obama walks Bo on a leash, it's obvious that Bo is in charge because the dog walks in front of the president and leads him along. In other words, Bo is taking Obama for a walk - not the other way around.

The British press, no fan of Obama since the president removed a bust of Winston Churchill from the White House, is having a good time with this revelation. A headline in The Independent chortled: "Leader of a superpower, led by a dog called Bo."

Dogs, of course, have an uncanny ability to sense weakness, as anybody knows who owns a dog or grew up with dogs. Generally, dogs respect those who are firm yet fair. Dogs behave badly with family members -- children in particular -- who fail to assert themselves as pack leaders

--------------

An interesting article, but I'm not taking sides here. Wait, yes I am. I'm on Bo's side. I usually do side with the dog. Alright then, Cesar Millan has noticed that President Obama walks behind Bo when they are walking.

Millan is right about many things regarding training/handling dogs. For instance, give a dog lots of exercise he is likely to stay out of mischief. The old "tired dog is a good dog" theory has a leg to stand on, if you will forgive the phrase.

Dogs are designed to move, much like people, squirrels and small mouth bass. When deprived of activity they become antsy. Whether the antsiness expresses itself with a bouncing leg while seated or pacing across the floor, it's a body that wants to, has to, move. Thus, walking is beneficial for man and beast and presumably for assorted creatures inhabiting air and water.

Returning to the matter of Bo on the leash. Millan asserts that in order to maintain order in the man/dog relationship, man must lead, dog must follow. True. Someone must be in charge and it ought not be the dog. (Coming soon to this blog: When We let Dogs Lead We invite Anarchy!).

So according to Millan, while walking with your dog on a leash the dog must remain behind you, or at least not in front of you. That's fine when you are walking in the dog show ring at the confirmation competition. Or when walking down a crowded street, it is courteous and safer to keep the dog at heel. But in real life; most of the time walking your dog, such uptight restraint is unnecessary and so not fun.

The average leash is six feet long. Normal people let their dog have that room to walk comfortably beside them with slack to stop and sniff interesting stuff or to lift a leg. After all, it's a walk, not a parade.

Whether Barack Obama is a good leader is not something I will comment on at this time, other than to say that our President's relationship with his dog Bo is not a significant factor.

recipe: doggie pan cookies

2010-10-07T10:07:00.000-04:00

This recipe is so easy and sensible you will ask yourself why the heck you would ever buy dog cookies!

Ingredients
-a couple tablespoons of fat (drain it off the ground beef or chicken or whatever you made for your own main course)
- 1 egg
-2 cups whole wheat flour
-1 cup all purpose flour
-handful of left over or shredded vegetables
-enough water to mix to brownie consistency

mix thoroughly

spray some Pam on two 8 or 9 inch cake pans, fill each pan about half way with batter

Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes

for crisper cookies- leave the pans in the oven after turning it off

once cooled, cut or break into bite size pieces

refrigerate for optimal freshness

Excerpt from a Dog Walker's Tale

2010-09-27T15:25:00.000-04:00

Warning: Moron using Tool

It’s been said that God protects drunks and little children. Clearly, God also protects small dogs with idiot owners.

Tie outs are handy for securing a dog outside when you don’t have a convenient fenced in area. A lead is attached to a stake that can be pounded into the ground. Attach the dog to the lead and SHAZAM your dog can enjoy the outdoors and you know where he is. It’s a win/win!

Because the tie out is such a simple and useful device, I want to believe that the neighbor Chihuahua is securely tethered as she barks like a crazed banshee and leaps about with every ounce of her five pound strength while Betty and I walk down the sidewalk.

Betty, a senior but still vital Akita mix, is a lovely dog. Once during a walk, she grabbed a squirrel in her mouth (in all fairness to Betty, the squirrel ran right under her nose). Seeing Betty with the squirrel, I said DROP IT! She gave me a look that said, sorry dear, no dice. She then bit down on the squirrel and dropped its limp body on the sidewalk.

Though Betty has mellowed some with the years, she still gets her back up every time that demented little dog goes into another of her bark fests.

Now, the tie down stake, like any tool, only works properly if used properly. And the thing about such stakes is they must be pounded fully into the ground in order for the system to be effective. You can’t just plunk it softly in the flower bed like a plastic tag that identifies a flower.

In the several years I’ve been walking Betty that raucous Chihuahua has lived with a vacuous woman of middle age a few doors down on the opposite side of the street. Certainly, a little dog barking through a window as you walk by, merits minor notice. But once the dog is outside the house, the rules change. My first priority is always the safety of the dog I’m with. But naturally, I am not unconcerned with the fate of any other dogs involved. And obviously, a five pounder is no match for the fifty pound Betty. Let’s face it, to Betty that Chihuahua is just a big annoying squirrel.

That it happened, yet again, was inevitable. Betty and I are walking on the other side of the street. Little wacko dog is in tie down, yapping and zipping around. She lunges in our direction. Because the tie out stake was put in like a thumb tack, the exuberant little hoodlum easily pulls it out of the soil. She makes a beeline for us, running across the street, the line with the stake on the end clanging behind her tragicomically. Incredibly, at that moment there was no lawn crew truck with trailer thundering down the street nor was there a big UPS truck roaring through the neighborhood.

God once again spared this small beast. Perhaps the little wretch suffers enough living with a nincompoop. The good Lord must feel it unnecessary to add to that ignominy with being squashed like a bug in the street.

The tiny freak stands inches from us barking wildly. Betty, to her credit, seems to have bored of this nonsense and remains at my side instead of grabbing the hapless fool in her mouth and snapping her spine. As usual, the imbecile who owns this dog who has cheated death more times than I can count (and those are just the ones I know about!) appears on her porch saying, “Oh! Sorry sorry! ".

Then the moronic woman runs across the street just as heedlessly and with equal luck as does her dog. “She won’t hurt you!” The boob tells me for the umpteenth time.

With each exchange, I am less polite but say roughly the same thing: Because of your careless stupidity your very small dog has only just escaped death. Now, what exactly are you sorry about?

Even dumb folks can learn. Some just choose not to.

Dog Groups and You

2010-09-20T09:47:00.002-04:00

The American Kennel Club (AKC) separates dog breeds into seven groups: Toys, Terriers, Working, Sporting, Hounds, Non-sporting, and Herding. These groups attempt to organize the many breeds by categorizing them by things they have in common.

The Herding group is full of dogs that were originally used to herd animals such as sheep or cows. In general, these dogs work well both independently and also in response to commands. These qualities are valuable in doing the job of herding and/or droving. Sometimes the dog has to make a decision on his own regarding how to move the herd and other times the dog is told by his owner how to move the herd. These dogs tend to be fairly high energy, easily trained, intelligent and loyal.

Toy dogs are mainly used as companions. They are small and agreeable to hang out with. For example, the King Charles Spaniel likes nothing more than sitting upon his master's lap. The Chihuahua makes an excellent hot water bottle. He never cools off and is pleased to join you under the covers.

The Sporting group contains dogs used to assist in hunting. This group includes retrievers, pointers and assorted gun dogs. Like most categories where the dog has a particular job, there are variations on a theme. For example, the Clumber Spaniel does the same job as the Brittany (tracking and retrieving game) but has shorter legs so is more suited to the slower walking hunter. The Labrador Retriever likes to swim more than the Golden Retriever does, so usually the Lab retrieves ducks while the Golden retrieves Pheasant. Dogs in the Sporting group tend to have lots of enthusiasm and willingness to join in activities.

The Working group represents dogs that do jobs such as guard property, pull a sled, herd or hunt. Their temperament varies with the jobs they are breed for. The Boxer, for instance, is a protective yet jolly pal with family and friends, and patient with children. He is alert to intruders and fearless if threatened. The Siberian Husky likes nothing more than to run, which makes him ideal to pull a sled over long distances. He is usually friendly and outgoing, without the possessive qualities seen in guard dogs. Most of the working breed dogs have a confidence that can make them challenging to train but admirable to know.

The Hound group consists of dogs that, in general, hunt by giving chase rather than flushing or pointing. Some hounds hunt by sight, such as the Afghan, some by scent such as the Bloodhound. Some hunt in groups like the Black and Tan Coonhound and Beagle. Hounds are usually friendly and are always in the mood to pursue prey. This can be troublesome while, say, walking down a suburban street when suddenly the dog catches sight or smell of a critter and gives chase. Hounds tend to be amiable and loving without being clingy.

The word terrier is derived from terra, meaning earth. Dogs in the Terrier group were originally used on the farm to kill vermin or hunt ground dwelling animals such as gophers, ground squirrels or even badgers. The tallest of the terriers, the Airedale, is roughly 23 inches at the shoulder. Most of the other Terriers are knee high or shorter. Terriers have a plucky, spunky attitude.

The Non-sporting group is not a bunch of lazy dogs who are indifferent to joining in games. Rather, it is various breeds that don't fit neatly in the other groups (though that is debatable). It is difficult to find similarities in use or temperament in this group due to the huge variation in type of dogs. For example, the American Eskimo Dog is a Nordic type breed with a stand off double coat, prick ears and a curved fluffy tail. This is an intelligent dog, friendly, yet an alert watchdog. The Bulldog is a thick dog with short legs and short hair and extra skin which hangs off his cheeks. He is placid and kindly. The Schipperke is interested in everything around him and was originally bred as a guard, watchdog and vermin hunter. In sum, the nonworking group is a mixed bag.

An interesting study, albeit relaxed in scientific design, was done by the AKC profiling people based on which group their dog hailed from. The results: Toy dog owners are nurturing and meek. Terrier owners are timid and highly dependant on others for emotional support. Hound people are friendly. Those with Working breeds are the most dominant of dog owners. Herder owners are orderly and aggressive. Sporting breed people are wealthy. Non sporting dog owners are as varied as the breeds in that group.

It's a fun and silly little study. But worth thinking about. Are we who we are because of the dog we live with or do we choose the dog we live with because of who we are? Is this akin to the mate we choose? Surely the type of person we fall in love with and live closely with offers significant information about us. Is not our dog as significant?

Pets Gone Wild

2010-09-10T10:05:00.001-04:00

Backyard ponds have become an almost ubiquitous part of landscaping. Sixteen years ago when I dug my first pond it was difficult to find a flexible liner. Now the choices, options and availability is pretty much unlimited.

Nevertheless, I did dig that pond, laid down a thick rubber liner and filled it with water. I put dirt in some plastic containers and planted lilies and cattails. A layer of pea pebbles spread on top keeps the dirt from floating around. I bought several tadpoles and feeder goldfish (Comets) and tossed them in the water. A pump and filter keep the water moving, oxygenated and captures some of the debris.

Here we are at the end of summer all these years later. Right now there are over a dozen frogs sitting along the edge of the water and on the lily pads. Fish swim below, clustered in their mysterious social order. The Dragonflies and Damsel flies are gone now, as are the water bugs that crowded the water's surface in the spring. It is a curious thing. Are these fish and frogs generations removed from what I began with, my pets? Or are they as wild as the bugs and algae that spontaneously appeared?

My dogs sniff around the edges of the pond (they know they are not allowed in it-like walking in the flowerbeds, this is "no"). The frogs are unconcerned by the dogs. I often wonder why. Can they tell the difference between a thirty pound black dog and a raccoon? Can they tell the difference between a skunk and a little dog with a pointy nose? And how come they run for the shelter of underwater when I, a common human being approach, but not when Mabel, a majestic mastiff loiters at the ponds edge?

Do they fear me? Is it because now and then I thrust a net into their domain and scoop out treasured gunk? Is the net scary, or is the temporarily clouded water caused by my meddling the threat? When a Heron swoops in and walks among the lily pads do they tremble hidden in the shadows? Or do they see it as benign as the decoy I put out in the spring in hopes of keeping the real Heron away?

These creatures are not dependent upon me. I don't even feed the fish. But if I didn't keep the pump going the water couldn't sustain life. Or could it? In winter when ice covers the pond, a floating heater maintains an opening in the ice so air can get in. Without the heater dangerous ammonia and whatnot would build up and kill the fish and frogs (it happened one year when the heater went kaput). But some critters survived even that disastrous winter. So perhaps they don't need me.

Is that the definition of a pet? Need? Maybe the pond frogs and fish need me as the perennial garden needs me, to tidy things up and make it just a little neater than wild. Aren't pets more than that? What about affection? It is doubtful that these pond residents love me. After all they appear to fear me, for they flee when I stick my hand in their water. Maybe this fear confirms that they are wild.

Certainly, the fear these pond dwellers display is not the God fearing variety. I know this much for sure, I'm no God, I just dug the hole.

Now, I fear, it is time to stop asking questions and get out there and scoop some leaves out of that pond.

No Fuss Fisticuffs

2010-09-03T15:13:00.000-04:00

Betta fish (Betta splendens) are a popular and inexpensive pet. Suitable housing is a container with a volume of as little as one cup of water. Bettas come in many exciting colors ranging from pale yellow to iridescent black. Also known as fighting fish, this pet is best kept singly. They are a couple of inches long, with flowing fins, some of which double their size. Easily riled, these fish flap their gill covers at you when you so much as look at them.

Talk about low maintenance, this fish does better in dirty water. Betta fishes are able to get oxygen by swallowing air, thanks to a unique organ in their head called a labyrinth. There is more oxygen in air than water, especially dirty water. In the wild, these fishes live in swampy areas so they habitually swallow air to survive. So for them dirty water is more like home. That's great news for folks who want a pet of minimum fuss.

Pet shop personnel advise that when keeping fish in a bowl it is best to replace only one third of the water at a time, when cleaning. With the Betta it is best to do this infrequently .

The male Bettas are the fighters. When you go into a pet shop you usually see the males on display. They are often lined up on a shelf in their individual containers. They react to the male beside them with manly movements of their unpaired fins. They fix their opponent with a menacing stare as they undulate. If the fishes were in the same water together they would bite to the death. (Meanwhile, safely tucked in the back room, the females await the victor and the mating that will follow.)

Keeping one of these fearsome fellows in the home is easy and offers interactive drama. Put one on the dining table as a centerpiece. As you pass the potatoes he will flail his fans at you. Put one beside the sink in the bathroom and he'll watch you wash your face with hostile interest. Put one on the coffee table and every time you reach for the remote he'll lunge ferociously.

Book Review: Natural Health for Dogs & Cats

2010-08-24T15:35:00.000-04:00

Dr. Pitcairn's Complete Guide to Natural Health for Dogs and Cats, Third Edition 2005
by Richard H.Pitcairn, DVM, PhD and Susan Hubble Pitcairn

This is a good reference book for any dog or cat owner's library. The first of two sections discusses feeding. The commerical pet food vs homemade food debate is detailed, with consideration to convenience, cost and nutrient values of each. Dr. Pitcairn clearly recommends real or human grade food for dogs and cats. Recipes are given using various sources of protein and carbohydrates, including some vegetarian dishes. Supplement recipes are provided and are tailored for animals at various stages of life and for those with special needs or conditions.

Section two lists common diseases and ailments along with herbal remedies and recommendations for treatment. Even if one is not inclined to whip up a batch of slippery elm tea for diarrhea, the information on dog and cat physiology is useful. It's nice to know what a normal pulse rate is before you are worried your pet is ill and decide to take his pulse.

Speaking as someone with a fairly extensive collection of reference books for dogs, I can say that this book is not unique in its approach to the "natural" topic. Scary statistics of animal poisonings by pet food companies as well as everyday household stuff is offered. This book is better than most preaching natural because it gives the pet owner recipes with nutritional values to assist in pulling off this home cooked nirvana.

Rating: very good.

Book Review: Her Last Death

2010-08-22T17:40:00.000-04:00

Her Last Death by Susanna Sonnenberg 2008

This memoir begins with a decision made in the present. We then are taken through Sonnenberg's past. We learn of her mother's fierce love, cruelty and selfish neglect. This is a woman addicted to drugs and sex and getting her own way. Her daughter is thus schooled.

Sonnenberg's writing style is good enough to keep you reading even during the less riveting parts. Hers is a remarkable story yet even the most ordinary and average reader can relate.

That Sonnenberg becomes the woman she is, reminds us that we are free to choose what we are.

Rating: good.

Excerpt from A Dog Walker's Tale

2010-08-22T16:45:00.000-04:00

Sometimes a Golden is just a Golden

I first met Sam when he was about nine months old. Sam’s people worked all day so I was engaged to provide him with a mid-day walk. Being an adolescent Golden Retriever, Sam was brimming with energy and enthusiasm and not surprisingly, pulled on the leash. Like most dogs, he responded to my consistent reminders that the fun, that is the walking, stopped anytime he didn’t follow my rules. So, if he pulled or crossed in front of me or crossed behind me or leaped around like a lunatic, the fun stopped. He came to understand that the joy of walking continued when he stayed on my left side and used the six feet of leash allotted to him sensibly. Because of this I can state with certainty that Sam was not intractable nor retarded nor untrainable.

Still, Sam’s people felt he was out of control and consulted a dog trainer. Every place probably has a “dog whisperer” or two. The fancy dog trainer Sam’s people choose was busy cultivating a big name for himself locally. He was even on the news. Sam’s people agreed to let this expert use Sam as an example in an exclusive infomercial. The camera grimly displayed Sam’s carnage. A gutter broken loose from the garage lay crumbled on the lawn while the dog guru’s voice explained that the unruly Sam had ripped it down and gave it a good shake. A frayed area rug: wild Sam chewed it to ribbons. Dents on a wood cabinet leg: crazed Sam gnawed it into sawdust.

Sam’s people appeared on the screen looking stiff and pale. “We love Sam but he is so hard to manage,” they said. “We just don’t know what to do.”

Fear not! The super dog trainer was there to save them. Sam jumps on guests? No problem. Sam is possessive of his toys? We’ll fix that. Sam doesn’t always come when he’s called? Piece of cake. The master dog trainer had all the answers.

Now, at this point I’m asking myself, how would I handle these minor snafus in a young dog’s development into a well mannered companion? For instance, he jumps on guests? Have the guests help you train. Use the guest as the reward. As long as the dog sits calmly, he gets attention from the guest. He jumps, the guest ignores him. Sounded sound to me. Alas, poor Sam. It became clear that I, a humble dog walker, could not compete with a would-be famous dog trainer.

You see, the expert dog trainer had a superior method. Fit Sam in a special collar that has a box attached to it that allows a volt, or many volts, of electricity to be zapped into Sam. A couple of prongs protrude from the box so that the zap can be directed directly into Sam’s skin. The collar is buckled tightly so that the prongs dig into Sam’s throat. This allows for a fuller spectrum of discomfort to be meted to the offending Sam. The unit comes with a handy remote control so the user can shock the dog from afar and near. And conveniently, this highly credentialed dog trainer can sell you one on the spot.

Thus Sam was rigged up and ready to be shocked into good behavior. So, Sam jumps on that guest? ZAP. Time it right and before you know it, Sam will dread every person that enters the house. He’ll run and hide under the bed. But at least he will have stopped jumping on guests.

It is a testament to Sam’s character that he did not become an angry and violent animal after this “training”.

Fast forward a few years. Sam’s people have a baby. I walk Sam twice a week.

The babysitter remarks, “isn’t Sam a handful?”

“A handful?” I reply. “ No. I find him well behaved and delightful.”

Babysitter tells me Sam is “dominant”.

“Why do you say that?” I ask.

“Oh, well, Sam’s daddy told me that Sam is dominant. “

I had never noted dominant behavior in Sam. He never tried to take over leadership when he was with me. He was always content to let me be boss. He was never particularly assertive toward other dogs we met while walking. So I asked, “how is Sam being dominant?”

“Well,” Babysitter says. “Baby is crawling now and Sam gets in the way. He wants to join in with the baby and it makes my job harder.”

Gosh, I did not know that dominant is just another word for wanting to be part of the action.

The Sam episode has taught me many things. One is that some folks actually believe that a Golden Retriever should have all your rules mastered when he is still a puppy. And there are “professional trainers” who prey upon that erroneous belief for their own gain. Another thing I learned is that some people think an adult Golden should quietly mind his own business and not attempt to insert himself into the domestic affairs surrounding him. That is shocking.

I wonder what the hot shot dog trainer might recommend for dealing with Sam’s “dominance” with the baby. Put the collar on and shock Sam whenever he gets within three feet of the child? Shock Sam if he attempts to play or cuddle with the youngster? The potential for misuse with this shock system is staggering. How about if the kid reaches up to touch Sam and sticks his precious little finger near the shock point? And just at that moment Dad decides to “correct” Sam with a zap? Timing is everything- in dog training and in life.

Such aversion therapy may be a good method to get a dog to stop chasing cars but to shock a dog when he is doing what a family dog is supposed to do seems downright delusional. Sam remains a sweet and gentle dog. But for some dogs such aversion begets vengeance. Is that why so many gentle family dogs “suddenly” bite someone in the house and end up in a shelter?

Some days when I arrive to walk Sam he is wearing that shock collar. I remove it and hang it on the hook where the leash is kept. Then we walk without drama or difficulty. Sam is a lovely Golden Retriever in the prime of life. His tail is in almost constant joyful motion. Sam seeks out mail carriers because many of them carry dog treats. When we are done with our walk Sam sits and waits while I return the leash to the hook inside the closet door. I slip him a treat and say good-bye. When I return for our next scheduled walk, Sam will be ready to go. Nothing shocking here.

The Neighbor Child (fiction)

2010-08-17T15:14:00.000-04:00

There he was again. Riding his bicycle back and forth on the sidewalk. His mother had probably told him, "go only as far as the yellow house" because he never ventured beyond the far end of my property. He was an old style exemplar of little boy Americana, light brown hair in a bowl cut over a round face, about five or six years old. His big eyes flitted around but never seemed to land on anything. No doubt, many people thought he was a cute kid. But to me he was not cute, nor was he in any way, endearing. He was my nemesis.

Immune to the charm of children, I had given him little attention. The simple hello or wave that worked on adult neighbors had never proved effective with neighbor children. Therefore, I tended to ignore them. This proved perilous.

At first, the neighbor child ignored me, too. Then one day, he rode his bike up to my gate and stared into my backyard. Naturally, my dogs went to the fence and barked at him. The child just stared. In spite of my indifference to children, I had noticed that they usually like dogs. But he just stared. No squeals of delight, no small fingers reaching through the fence to touch. My dogs, sensing a terrible weirdness, kept on barking, in fact becoming more and more agitated at the child's spooky vacant presence. I put down my trowel and walked to the gate. Immediately, the child turned his bicycle around and peddled down the driveway and back toward his house. Six innocent dog eyes begged me for comfort. I petted them and said, "it's OK. He's gone."

He didn't stay gone. Later that day, the dogs and I were inside the house. Something must have caught my eye- a flash of chrome or a dash of handlebar fringe- so I glanced out the window. The neighbor child was riding his bicycle on my front lawn around and around the big tree. I watched incredulous, hypnotized. Then he steered his bike into the flower bed, leaving behind a fresh tread mark in between the tulips and the holly bush. I lunged out the front door and bellowed, "what are you doing?"

His head jerked in my direction and for an instant our eyes met. Did I see evil?

He broke eye contact and I zoomed into my firm grown-up voice. "You know better than to ride your bike in the flowers."

The child said nothing. He just stared. Though his gaze did not meet mine again, it hovered near, somewhere around my shoulders. I know now why my dogs had been so freaked out. "Go home," I said. The child turned his bike and moved off in the direction of his house.

The following day came a repeat performance. This time I told him if I ever saw him riding on my grass or flowerbeds I would tell on him. Oddly, this threat that had been so very dire when I was his age, seemed to have no effect on him. His big blank eyes flitted fly-like, showing no hint of remorse and certainly not the fear or dread that I expected from him. For a moment, I felt fear. What if he was a psychopath? Or what was it called now, antisocial personality? Whatever you call them, didn't they start by torturing animals before moving on to humans? No wonder my dogs needed comfort after their close encounter.

"Go home," I told the neighbor child. He turned his bicycle onto the side walk and rode away.

The welcome mat on my front porch sat just about a thin crack in the concrete slab. For years that crack remained unchanged. Then, seemingly overnight, the crack grew. Interestingly, this occurred about the same time that the neighbor child began to appear regularly. Before long the crack became a crevasse. I feared for the mailman. Contractors came and measured and wrote up estimates. The crack had become immanently treacherous so I placed one of those orange warning cones on the scariest section so that anyone walking on the porch could avoid falling in.

The cone did not go unnoticed by the neighbor child. He rode up to the porch, got off his bike and climbed the stairs. He sat on the top step and tipped the cone enough to peer underneath it. I wondered if he had been dared to do it, like kids will dare each other to approach a haunted house. Perhaps not, for this child was always alone.

Later that same day I heard what I thought was a police or fire siren. Curiously, the sound did not increase, nor did it fade. It continued unchanging, as though it was right outside my house. A flash of worry struck me- maybe one of my neighbors was being loaded into an ambulance. I saw nothing from the front window. The siren sound continued. It seemed to be coming from my kitchen. I dashed to the window over the sink and looked out. I could hear the siren clearly now. I looked down. There it was, the source of the sound.

The neighbor child sat on his bicycle under my kitchen window howling unrelentingly, a demented alarm. The pitch was piercing and the fact that it emanated from this boy was beyond eerie and I felt something that was less than terror but far more than consternation. In that moment, the thought first occurred to me to ask the mason to entomb the neighbor child in the new front porch.

I am a gentle person, really. Edgar Allen Poe type notions don't come readily. But there was something about this bizarre boy that changed me. Truly, it was not me, it must have been he, who brought about this macabre episode.

I stepped outside onto the porch. Moving the cone aside, I held my eye just about the hole. The air was cool and stale. I squinted and strained to see down into the hole but saw only blackness. What was down there? Bricks? Dirt? A tiny squeaking came from somewhere in the abyss. Field Mice? A ground squirrel's nest? Demons? Imps? Thoroughly spooked, I replaced the cone and hurried inside, locking the door behind me.

The following day my broadcast spreader filled with corn gluten, I proceeded to feed the lawn. Many of my neighbors employed companies with trucks that carry poisons. Workers drive these trucks to my neighbor's homes to spray the poison onto their lawns. Then they erect tiny flags at the lawns edge to warn of the danger. Their lawns are green but it is not a natural green, rather, a glow-in-the-dark unearthly green. My lawn was green. The green of a wild meadow, a green you can stroll on with bare feet without getting cancer.

The neighbor child stopped his bicycle on the sidewalk in front of my house. Walking behind the spreader, I passed close to where the child sat on his bike. His spooky eyes danced randomly. I turned to spread another row, up and down in orderly lines. When I turned back again, the neighbor child was gone. There was no sign of him on the sidewalk in either direction. I shivered and kept spreading. When I finished, I noticed the orange cone on the porch was askew.

Drawing closer to the porch, I thought I heard something. Peering into the crack revealed nothing but darkness. I turned away then heard the something again. A voice? Though I spun around in all directions, I saw no one.

"I can assist you," said a clear soft voice.

"Who's there?" I asked.

"I am your servant," said the voice.

"Where are you?" I demanded.

"In here. I've always been here."

I felt a chill. The voice came from the porch. "What do you want?" I asked.

"To help you," said the voice.

"Let me see you," I said.

There was no response. I waited, listening hard. A thick silence enveloped me. No birds sang, no cars roared, the trees stood motionless.

Finally the voice said, "what do you want most?"

What an important question. What did I want most? To be happy ? Rich? Have more privacy? Freedom? Respect? Piece of mind? Wisdom? The perfect salsa recipe?

Suddenly I felt foolish, crazy, even. There I stood having a conversation with my broken front porch. I glanced around. The street was empty except for a red car with a crumbled tail light parked in front of the house next door. There were no people, no animals, no movement anywhere on the street. I longed for the obnoxious drone of a leaf blower to shatter the unnerving stillness. Glancing down the street toward the neighbor child's house, I could just make out his front lawn and his bicycle sprawled carelessly near the sidewalk.

"I'll get back to you," I muttered at the porch and rushed into the backyard. I could not be sure, for I was breathing hard, but a small chuckle seemed to follow me.

After a dreamless nights sleep, I felt renewed and clearheaded. Certainly, I had not heard a voice from the porch. I must have spent too much time in the sun. My confusion and distress were perfectly understandable. A wide brimmed hat would put an end to this nonsense.

However, no amount of sun exposure could explain the chalk design that appeared on the sidewalk at the foot of the walkway leading up to my front porch. I stood over the chalk marks, expecting to find a hop scotch pattern or names inside a heart. Instead, it was a perfect circle nearly filling a square section of sidewalk. The circle was drawn in yellow chalk. A curious pattern, also drawn in yellow, lined the inside of the circle. These markings weren't letters, at least not from any alphabet I knew of. Within this border of strange symbols was a design resembling flowers, done in pink chalk. These flower things surrounded a human figure drawn in blue. A single line of blue chalk started at the circle's outer edge and ran down the sidewalk. I followed the line. It ended at the neighbor child's house. The line turned and vanished into the grass under the child's bicycle.

I walked quickly back toward home on legs stiff with fear and stood again at the chalk circle. A pink line ran from the circle up to my front porch. Suddenly I heard a roar. I gasped, whirling around to see a large pick-up truck slowing to a stop in front of my house. A man, wearing a dusty bandanna on his head and thick work boots on this feet, jumped out of the truck.

"Hello, ma'am" the man said. He moved behind the truck and pulled a big sledge hammer out of the truck bed. Carrying the heavy hammer easily in one hand, he moved past me to the porch. "I'm gonna break up the slab now," he said and swung the hammer with a dull thud.

I went out to buy a hat. When I returned, the workman was gone and so was the top of the porch. Yellow caution tape surrounded the area. Chunks of concrete lay inside the porch foundation, like tissue paper filling a gift box. I hoped the ground squirrels had gotten out in time.

The pink chalk line that had been on the walkway, had vanished. The chalk circle remained. The blue line that ran from the circle down the sidewalk to the neighbor child's house was still there, though it appeared to have faded.

There was the neighbor child coming toward me, riding his bicycle along the blue line. I went inside the house and let the dogs out into the backyard. They barked at the neighbor child as he sat on his bicycle inside the yellow chalk circle. His weird empty eyes moved over the porch crater. He seemed to want to proceed up the walkway but his bike wouldn't move. The child's eyebrows furrowed. He tried again and again to move the bike toward the porch. Finally, he turned the bike toward his house and rode away.

Later, when it was dark, I stood before the porch. The street light cast a dabbled shadow on the rough pile of broken concrete. A voice from somewhere under the rubble said, "you have to do your part now."

"What?" I said, stupidly.

"Really now, stop being silly," the voice said. "I took care of the first part of the spell. You must do your part now. Only together can we complete the spell."

Somehow I'd known. Indeed, I had known for a long time. Even before the voice or the design on the sidewalk, I had sensed that some sort of Bogie man dwelled under the porch. Of course, my rational mind had pushed the notion aside.

"Wait," I said.

"There has been enough waiting," said the voice. "You are one who respects our earth. I will help you. But you must do as I say."

I stood silently trembling for a long time, uncertain what to do, what to believe. At last, I said, "I'm going inside now." I turned to go, then added, oddly, "good night."

"Good night," the voice said.

I heard no disappointment in the voice's tone and felt relief.

The next day, I was in my backyard staking Peonies. My dogs barked. There he was again. The neighbor child. He was on a scooter this time. He stood with one foot on the scooter, one foot in my driveway. His hands gripped the handle bars, his knuckles aimed at me. The child stared his vacant infuriating stare at me, at the yard, at the air surrounding us. I resolved then to finish the spell.

Once it was dark, I faced the porch. "What must I do?"

Very good," said the voice. "Now listen carefully."

I listened, all the while hoping that this creature would not show itself. Surely, it was a Legion of the Night and I, a foolish mortal.

Using my garden spade, I cut a circle into the lawn as instructed. I stepped inside the circle and waited. The air was warm and damp. In the distance, crickets chirped. My nose picked up delectable whiffs of meat cooking on a barbecue somewhere. A car drove past, pulsing with rap music. On the other side of the street, a man walked with a white dog on a leash. They paid me no notice as I stood in the shadows of my front lawn.

The voice began a chant of unfamiliar words. I closed my eyes and hoped for the best, trusting in this Geomancy, Majic, Sorcery, whatever it was that I had given in to. The voice sang it's strange song in the dark and I sensed nothing else but the power of the spell. Finally, it was silent and I opened my eyes. Nothing seemed different except that I now felt alone.

"Thank you," I said toward the porch. I glanced around, feeling embarrassed and guilty. What had I just done? Was I now in league with Satan's Soldiers? I fled into the house.

Once inside, I no longer felt afraid. Of anything. And not simply because I was safely locked in the house. Something had happened to me. Magic, perhaps.

A few days later, a new concrete slab was poured. I put the welcome mat out again. The spade cuts in the lawn had closed up, like a minor wound healed. The yellow circle was still there on the sidewalk but the blue figure inside it had faded so that it was barely visible. The blue line that ran from the circle down to the neighbor child's house had disappeared. A FOR SALE sign stood on the neighbor child's front lawn in the same spot that he had heedlessly tossed his bicycle.

A month later a SOLD sign perched on top of the FOR SALE sign. I got into the habit of wearing my wide brimmed hat when I did yard work. One night brought a thunder storm with heavy rain. In the morning, the chalk circle was gone. I never saw the neighbor child again. The voice from the porch has been silent.

Cool Shave ?

2010-08-01T12:59:00.000-04:00

During the hot summer months some folks look at their panting dog and think, "all that hair is making Rover hot!" No it isn't. Rover is panting because it is hot outside, because it is summertime.

Dogs don't sweat through their skin like horses and humans do. Dogs pant to help regulate their body temperature. Panting cools the body by evaporation, similar to sweating. The dog also has a handful of sweat glands in the foot pads but panting is the dog's primary source of evaporation to cool the body.

Dogs have a coat of hair that insulates their bodies from both heat and cold. The coat holds in air close to the skin. This trapped air is the same temperature as the dog's body. So conditions outside the dog that are not ideal (not body temperature) are kept away from the dog's body by his coat. Cut off the coat and the dog's insulation is lost.

It is better to groom the dog so that his coat can better do its intended job. Matts in the hair muck up the insulation ability of the coat. A well combed out coat can efficiently insulate as designed. Unless you have a dog such as a Poodle or Schnauzer, whose coat is kept trimmed all year, don't cut off your dog's hair thinking you will keep him cool.