Hurricane Katrina Animal Rescue Efforts

Please take the time to visit this site:

http://weblog.burningbird.net/archives/2005/09/16/the-last-to-be-rescued

Read it all, take it in, and give.

NB

Do you want to go for a RIDE!?

Dog Mobile

I hate to admit it, but I love four letter words. In that regard I’ve been a bad influence on Mrs. Author. Every day occurrences like stubbed toes, rain, or a trip to the mudstream cause eruptions of obscenities that make our home sound like a truckstop. The dogs seem no worse for the wear.

There is one four letter word in particular that can immediately cause a dog’s brain to short-circuit. Ride. It seems innocent enough. We humans may use it freely among ourselves with little or no cause for concern. But accidentally use that word in conversation around Nigel & Sola and the world as you know it will change before your eyes. Tables are overturned, claws rip at the carpeting, the cat flattens itself in a corner. Sola leaps with joy, easily rising to the level of my face. Nigel pops wheelies and screams like a schoolgirl who’s just discovered a snake in her lunchbox.

I firmly believe that when I speak the magic word, car keys in hand, I am transformed. The dogs suddenly see me as a gigantic peanut butter covered hotdog with squirrels running all over me juggling tennis balls. They cannot help but go completely and utterly bonkers.

To a dog, ride is the great word of promise. For Nigel & Sola it might mean a run in the dog park, a walk on Church Street, or maybe a trip to Al’s for a little scoop of ice cream. Walks along the shores of Lake Champlain soothe them. They are very much aware that the car is the key to all of these experiences.

Each and every weekend the word is spoken. We drive, walk, visit, experience. We eat together, crank music with the windows down, and Sola barks at each passing car with a canine occupant on board. New smells, new people, new dogs, new places abound. We take all of this in together, as a family. And we’re all better for it.


Nigel: I do not scream like a schoolgirl.
Sola: Who cares Nigel, help me catch those squirrels!
Cat: I hate that word…

Mardi Gras, or something like it.

Sola Rules at Mardi Gras
Note: I should have posted this months ago, but time escapes me.

Interesting fact about Sola – she has eleven nipples. And each one tastes different.

Ok,I made that part up.

Not ten, twelve, or fourteen nipples. Eleven. I’ve looked everywhere and cannot find the stray. Once I felt a bump on her ear and became excited. It turned out to be a bug bite. So I have resigned myself to the odd number.

It’s sad to think that we might not see the real Mardi Gras again for quite some time. We do have our own lame/cute version of Mardi Gras in Vermont, however. In February, when full brain chill has set in, Burlington is deluged with residents of surrounding counties, each vying for a good spot to watch our Mardi Gras parade. To the outside world it’s probable that we look kooky. Thousands of us line the streets, frostbitten, senses dulled by the cold.

And then we go bonkers. A parade begins, and floats of differing shapes, colors and themes make their way up Church Street. Beads and candy fly from the floats at a furious pace. Eyes are poked out by Tootsie Rolls, beads adorn the trees, and the onlookers jump and scream for attention to have a trinket thrown their way. Sola and I assume the position.

The other frozen spectators gasp as I hoist Sola above my head. They watch dumbfounded as beads and candy rain down on her. It only makes sense. To the float pitchers Sola stands out, a beautiful blonde hovering above the crowd, with eleven cold-weather-stimulated pencil erasers pointing to the sky. She flashes with glee as bling and sweets bounce off us. Children surround us to catch our scraps.

And then it’s over.

I’ve never timed the parade, but I doubt that it lasts an hour. The streets empty as Sola, Mrs. Author and I struggle under the weight of our treasure. We are greeted with the angry stares of those carrying little. Laughter erupts among us, and we are certain that next year’s parade will bring us another victory.

Yes, Sola might be missing a nipple, but I love her just the same. She’s my Mardi Gras ringer. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish assembling my bead curtain…

Nigel: Odd number of nipples for an odd dog.

Sola: Knock it off Nigel. You want me.

Misconceptions

Nigel Winds Up

Most folks know little about Greyhounds. And if I meet those folks when we’re out and about with Nigel, I inevitably hear the same question. “Do you have to walk your Greyhound eight miles a day?”, or “Do you have to let him run three times a day?” Nigel often pauses to study the inquisitor. And pauses…and pauses…

Anyone who lives with a Greyhound is laughing while reading this. Because we hold a great secret. Truth be told, we can’t help but tell the world that secret each time we have the opportunity to do so. But it takes time for news to travel, so I’ll share the secret with the uninitiated.

Greyhounds are the laziest breathing beings on the planet.

Give your brain a minute with that. Cast aside preconceived notions about the Tortise, the Snail, the Three Toed Sloth. Aside from top speed and a higher cuddle factor, the Greyhound places last.

Greyhounds like to sleep. They like to sleep more than anything. And they will sleep fourteen to eighteen hours a day if you don’t stop them. If you know Greyhounds, you know there is one place that is like a crackhouse for them: the couch. This is where Nigel passes most of his time - inanimate, to the extent that sometimes I’ll pause at the couch to take his pulse. There have been days when I considered dusting him off. Most days, Nigel moves with the speed and purpose of FEMA. On any given evening you’ll find him slouched over Mrs. Author on the couch, drooling like a drunk.

Facts about Nigel:

1. If we spend a day away from home, and he’s on his feet too long, he’ll start looking for a couch.
2. He loves the couch so much that Mrs. Author can vacuum him with attachments and he will not move. (Do that to Sola and she might actually explode.)
3. If we spend a day in the city, I can pick him up (all seventy pounds of him) and sit down on a park bench with him in my lap. And he will sleep.
4. He chases nothing.
5. It is often the case that only two things might have the power to get him off the couch; treats, or the promise of a walk.
6. He hates tacky Yard Monsters.

So most folks think Greyhounds are wild, strung-out Mexican Jumping Beans, and the opposite is true. They are incredibly easy to live with. They are usually calm, perceptive, and intuitive. They are gentle beyond explanation.

The other question I hear most is, “Are they smart?” This is an interesting question. Check the dog breed intelligence chart and they’re nowhere near the top. But Greyhounds were bred to do one thing and to do it well; chase the life out of anything small that moves quickly. Commands like sit, lie down, shake – these would be useless to the ancient Egyptians that bred them, or the owner of a racing dog. With patience, you might train a Greyhound to do some of these tricks, but you will be fully aware it is not terribly enthusiastic about “giving you five.”

So are they smart? Yes, I believe they are. See this previous post: http://lifewithdogs.blogspot.com/2004/05/great-porch-roof-incident.html
True, if you drop Nigel in a room full of well-trained Border Collies he’ll come off looking like George W. Bush at a Mensa meeting. That’s quite ok, we both know better. I’m just happy that he adheres to numbers 4 and 6 above. No shin splints for me…no rest for the Yard Monsters.

Nigel: Excuse me, but I’m certainly more intelligent than that George guy.

Sola: My tail is smarter than that George guy…

My Neighbor is a Dork

My neighbor is one hundred percent dork, and I have irrefutable proof. Want to see it?

I just don't get it.

Ain't she purty? Here is how it started...

*Ring* Ring*
Author: "Hello?"
Neighbor: "Dude, I made a really frivolous purchase today. You'll see it when you get home."
Author: "Ok."
Neighbor: "I have a date coming over later. Gotta run"

And see it we did. Propped up in the side yard for all to see. Basking in the sunlight of what would have been an otherwise beautiful summer day was a dinged up, flat-out creepy looking department store mannequin. I approached it and paused, my jaw agape. My neighbor walked over to join me. After some thirty seconds of silence passed, I looked at him and remarked, "So many things come to mind that I am speechless." He laughed. I went inside.

Mrs. Author was not amused. She believed that we were certain to make an appearance on Jerry Springer by default. I pondered the possibility. Curiosity got the best of me.

*Ring* Ring*
Neighbor: "Hello?'
Author: "Just one question. Why?"
Neighbor: "I had to buy it. It was on sale."
Author: "Ok. You're crazy. Bye."

It occurred to me that many bad deeds have been done in the name of "Sale." Every time I open my closet I run the risk of being crushed by a wall of Mrs. Author's sweaters, most of them acquired when they were "on sale." And where I live, there are certain neighborhoods to avoid when cheap beer is discounted.

The day passed without further incident. We avoided looking at the yard. The sun went down. Mr. Neighbor's date arrived. By the sounds of it, there was much merriment. The music was loud, the wine flowed freely. We went to sleep. Mr. Neighbor's date departed at 5 a.m.

I awoke refreshed, having temporarily forgotten the Yard Monster. Once the coffee maker was fired up I grabbed the leash (Sola runs free). We walked across the basketball court and I was suddenly jolted by a symphony of howls and screams. Nigel and Sola leaned forward, hackles in the upright position. And they let her have it. If there were an accurate bark translation device I think I would have heard "Son of a...", and "Your mother is..." or some such language. They wanted her gone, and they made no bones about it.

This pleased me for two reasons. First, Mr. Neighbor chose to plant his new girlfriend right next to the mudstream. Sola wasn't going near it. Second, I was pretty sure Mr. Neighbor had stayed up very late, and was due for a desert-mouth, pots and pans banging in your brain, all day toilet session hangover.

So I praised the dogs with each bark and howl. Nigel strained at the end of the leash, muscles taught, lips curled back in a snarl. He screamed with force. "Good boy, good boy.” I repeated, and he continued to make one hell of a ruckus. As did Sola, barking away, pacing, keeping her distance. I let this go on for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably three minutes.

We all returned to the house. I poured coffee.

*Ring*Ring*
Author: "Hello?"
Neighbor: "Well, I guess I deserve to be woken up this way."
Author: "Indeed you do."

All is well again. The Yard Monster no longer protects the yard from the dogs. Sola's blood pressure is down. Nigel's case of the trembles has subsided. Mrs. Author is over her fear of being mentioned on The Blue Collar Comedy Tour. And I am relaxed, assured that no matter what, Nigel and Sola will protect me whenever anything tacky tries to attack.

Nigel: Thank the Lord, the creepy cracker is gone.
Sola: Our neighbor is a dork.

On a more serious note- EIC, Exercise Induced Collapse

We have discovered that Sola is afflicted with EIC - exercise induced collapse.

EIC is a condition that only affects Labrador Retrievers, and only a small percentage of them. I was fortunate to have studied this condition prior to the onset of EIC in Sola. If you have a Lab, please read this just in case: http://thelabradorclub.com/library/eicstudy.html
You should become familiar with the symptoms, because they often mimic seizure symptoms. It is my hope that you will never need to use the knowledge gained...

This is a completely manageable condition - but it means the end of playing fetch on dry land. Playing fetch in the water seems to be fine, and for that Sola is thankful, as are we. Yesterday Sola spent the majority of the day in our pond, and she is just fine. Nonetheless, she is my kid, so we'll be careful about intense exercise in the future.

I do not expect this to have any impact on her ability to provide me with funny/humiliating/ridiculous writing material for this blog. See the posts below and you'll probably agree.

Comments are welcome - click below any post to leave them. Careful though - too much praise for Sola will go to her head... :)