Birds Inc.

I hate to tell you that the bird drama is continuing around here.  But it is. 

The saga of the birds has now moved to the front porch.  Yesterday, whilst watering the hanging flower baskets on my front porch, I discovered a bird nest in one of them.  "No wonder this basket's not looking too hot," I thought to myself.  I looked in the nest: no eggs, no birds.  I decided that the birds must have moved on.  I removed the nest and discarded it in the alley where it was promptly smashed by passing cars.

This morning I awake to find a dove sitting in said hanging basket.  I thought, "silly bird, you can't live here anymore.  I took your nest.  These are no longer suitable lodgings."  When the dove was spooked by a passing car I peeked in the basket to see what damage was done, and behold, there was an egg.  Now I know that egg was not there yesterday.  This dove laid that egg this morning.

Now I'm filled with extreme remorse.  Can you imagine what I've done?!?!  I threw out this mama's nest!  She worked tirelessly to get a cozy space ready to birth her babies, came back to the nest this morning in the midst of birthing pangs, only to discover that her work had been destroyed!  And now, there was no time for her to even gather the resources to build a new one.  The baby was coming and the inn had been torn down.  I am a horrible monster. 

And what do I do about my flowers that are in that basket?  Do I just let her sit all over them and destroy them?  Will I be able to water them?  Will she and her babies be pooping on them?  I read that the gestation period is about 14 days.  How long will they be living there after they hatch?  What if they don't hatch and I've sacrificed my plants for nothing?  Are these residents permanent - will they be returning each year?

Clearly I cannot evict a mother and her babies.  That would be cruel beyond belief.  I guess I'll just be tip-toeing around the front porch for awhile awaiting the new arrivals - and for the magic of nature to unfold.

First Poo-Free Washing

Since I spent copious amounts of time on Fat Tuesday washing my hair, I did not wash it yesterday (the first day of Lent).  So today was the first washing with baking soda and apple cider vinegar.  And tomorrow I have a hair appointment.  Thus, my Lenten exercise is going to start off with a bit of a hiccup because my hair dresser is going to wash my hair.  I briefly considered taking in my bottle of baking soda mix to have her use, but I think she would look askance at that.  In fact, I don't think I'll tell her of my plan because she will probably hair-dresser-divorce me. 

The results of the first washing: it didn't feel like I washed my hair at all.  I didn't like it.  It just sort of felt like I was pouring water on my head.  It doesn't feel as clean as normal, but, maybe I'll develop a new normal.  I blow dried it and here's what I look like:

I guess it looks clean enough, but I'm not quite sure yet what I think.

Also, just for fun, here's a picture of a.) a throw pillow with a tiny head, or b.) my giant cat.  I report, you decide.

 

 What you can't tell from this shot is that her entire body is covering a floor vent and she is vampiring all the heat that is supposed to warm the guest room.  I tried putting her on a diet but all that happened is that my other cat almost starved to death because she ate all his food.  Oh Maggie, what will become of you? 

Today's "Living the Life of Riley" Moment is Brought to you by...

Reggie the Dog

According to Wikipedia:  "The expression, "Living the life of Riley" suggests an ideal contented life, possibly living on someone else's money, time or work. Rather than a negative freeloading or golddigging aspect, it instead implies that someone is kept or advantaged." 

Huh, certainly seems fitting doesn't it?  I'm so glad I made the bed for him today so that he would have somewhere comfortable to enjoy his afternoon nap.

A Simple Afternoon?

The weeds outside my back door have been calling to me...more like they have been nagging at me like some old harpy.  The truth of the matter is I don't mind heading outdoors and getting my hands dirty - that is until things have gotten out of control.  Then I get so overwhelmed that I'm paralyzed from even beginning.  To make matters worse our beautiful patio and sidewalk that Brian laid down two summers ago was completely overtaken by weeds, weeds that should not have been there.  I insisted that plastic be laid down before the patio blocks were laid.  Fat lot of good THAT did. 

But my good cheer would not have a damper put on it by a few wayward weeds.  I invited Reggie outdoors with me and put him on his chain so that he could enjoy the fresh air with me.  In hind-sight, that may have been a mistake.

I'm merrily pulling weeds, listening to the radio.  A man walks down our alley.  As per usual, Reggie runs after him barking like a vicious degenerate.  (He is on his chain though, so no harm befalls the innocent walker-by.)  I apologize for my dog's rude behavior and go about my business.

As I'm pulling weeds I'm looking at our sidewalk thinking it just looks really, well, unkempt somehow.  I can't quite put my finger on it.  As I poke around a little I discover that the reason is that the grass is starting to grow over onto the sidewalk, the way it is wont to do.  (Not that the stupid grass will grow where we plant it, but take over the sidewalk, sure.)  I try to pull it like it's a weed but that's getting me nowhere really fast.  So I come up with an idea to get out our flat-edged shovel and pummel the thing into the earth thereby creating a straight, clean edge. 

I bring out the shovel.  The SECOND I put that shovel in my hand and place my foot upon it Reggie goes absolutely ballistic!  I don't know what that shovel in my hands looked like.  Perhaps he thought the shovel was attacking me.  Perhaps he though I was attacking the shovel.  Whatever the case may be, he had a pure hatred and aggression towards the situation.  First he wrapped me up in chain barking and growling at the shovel.  I got off the shovel, gave him a stern word or two, unwrapped myself, and tried again.  AGAIN, the second I got on that shovel hostility ensued and my beloved dog BIT MY LEG!  He bit my leg and broke the skin.  Alright, I didn't have blood streaming down my leg and it was just one puncture mark, not a whole mouth shaped wound.  BUT HE BIT ME. 

And I was ticked!  So I took said shovel and gave Reggie a firm whack across the rump.  Nothing crazy - although I must have looked crazy with my shovel and my yelling at him about being bad and all.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw a neighbor working in her yard and thought I should probably pull it together.  So there I am, yelling, wielding a shovel, and at that very moment a sheriff pulls up.  The first thought that ran through my head was, "How in the world did he get here so fast?  It just happened.  When the neighbor called he must have been right here." 

So he pulls up and says the obligatory, "hello ma'am" and all.  I put down the shovel.  Do I even need to say that I am total mess also?  I was sweaty, dirty with soil from head to toe, and I probably had a crazy look in my eyes.  Then he asks, "Did you see a man with a black shirt and jeans walk by here?"  Shew!  A narrow miss from winding up in the klink for animal cruelty. 

I replied that I had, about 30 minutes previous.  Then the sheriff wants to know if he appeared drunk.  I said I didn't know, my dog had been barking and that was all I really paid attention to.  He said he had a report of a drunk walking that way from another neighbor. 

Really?  Poor guy.  If he was drunk he was keeping to himself pretty nicely, not causing any trouble.  It was a beautiful Friday afternoon.  So he hit the sauce a little early.  Who cares?  Anyway.  There ended my run in with the law.  Reggie and I gave each other the cold shoulder for about an hour. 

The stupid shovel didn't even work.  I edged the entire sidewalk with an old kitchen carving knife.  If there is anything that is not fun AT ALL, that is it.  This would be a superior punishment for children because it is THAT AWFUL...although you may not want to give misbehaving children a carving knife.  Proceed with caution.  But I have to say I am quite proud of the results.  And though I'd like to say I will never do it again, spring has a way of making me forget how awful certain things are. 

I will, however, not be using the flat-edged shovel near or around Reggie in the near future.

Wee Wee Wee All the Way Home

Yesterday I had the honor of pig sitting six little piglets. Our friends Dan and Felicia have a delightful, and might I add HILARIOUS, farmstead full of a menagerie of animals. But life on the farm is rough and Dan has had to learn the heartbreak of losing beloved animal friends. But this little miracle of life helps make it seem worth it. The piglets are a week old and are being bottle fed right now. So, that's right: I got up at 5:30 in the morning and bottle fed hungry little, slurpy piglets. And I didn't complain. And Brian almost broke down in tears at the wonder of it all (er, me getting up peacefully...not at the miracle of life.)

Feeding them is a little tricky because it's hard to remember which ones you have removed from the tub and fed already. So I would put the ones I'd fed into the clear bin next to the tub. Except that a few of them could jump out...which made things a little trickier. But never fear, because as you can see, my co-pig sitter, Reggie, was on hand to assist. He worried over them. Licked them. Put his head in the bin like a mother hen to check on them when they made noise. But the biggest help he provided was by herding them when they escaped during feeding time. I knew that this instinct of his (evidenced by his violent attempts to herd the vacuum sweeper) would come in handy one day. I would find Reggie in the corner by the basement stairs and realize Oh! There must be a piglet over there. One more reason to love this most amazing of dogs.

I guess I can check off the "bottle feed a piglet" on my list of things I should do before I die list. :) I'm just a simple gal really.

This Really Stinks!

Last night Brian and I let Reggie out around 9:30. We sat on the back steps peacefully watching him do his "business" and let him sniff around a little. All of sudden he takes off down the alley growling.

This is not unusual. You would think, by Reggie's actions, that the cats in our neighborhood are the greatest threat to safety and peace that our community has ever seen. Honestly. And he lives with two cats! But we would rather he not go chasing a cat around the block so we usually act pretty fast, yelling at him, "Come on Reggie, let's go in. REGGIE. GET OVER HERE!" And he responds fairly well and happily zips back into the house.

So this was the routine we followed last night when he ran into the alley growling. But as Brian and I went to follow Reggie into the house Brian said, "What's that smell?" It seems to me that "what's that smell" is never referring to the smell of baking bread or freshly picked flowers. Usually the reference is to something foul. And then the smell wafted to my nostrils. SKUNK.

And then the realization hit us. Our eyes met. I watched the horror sweep across his eyes...the same horror that was probably mirrored in my own eyes. It was no cat that Reggie chased down the alley. It was a skunk. Our little dog was in the house and we needed to find out if he had escaped the skunk's spray.

Upon walking into our house the scent that assailed our nostrils was more potent and vile than I had thought possible. We bent over to smell Reggie. We did not need to bend very far to be certain that he the smell torpedo had hit it's target.

I had heard horror stories of other dog owners whose dogs had been a little too curious with a small striped animal. I always worried that this could happen to us. We did not panic. There was no time for that though we would have liked to. We needed to move fast. We became an efficient crisis-management team. I shouted out commands.

1. I yelled at Brian to move the dog outside while I went to the Internet for instructions on handling this crisis. (I found an article walking me through the crisis step-by-step. I didn't read several articles to see what they said. I went with the first one. It seemed reliable.)
2. I began running bath water, opened windows, and plugged in an air freshener.
3. I then stripped down to little more than a pair of rubber gloves and told Brian to bring the dog in and deposit him in the tub.
4. I handed Brian the computer and told him to mix up the recipe for skunk-removal wash. (It involved hydrogen peroxide, baking soda, and dish soap.)
5. We screamed about how horrid the house smelled, disbelieving how the 60 seconds Reggie had spent in the house had tainted our happy home beyond all reason.
6. I secured the area that had been sprayed on the dog and began washing it vigorously...all the while telling Reggie how bad he is.
7. Brian brings the mixture and we wash the aforementioned area with that as well.
8. Brian then removed the dog from the tub and dried him.
9. Reggie then did his happy I-just-had-a-bath dance and began running through the house totally unscathed.

We, in the mean time, are left with a house that smells like a mixture of burnt plastic and organic foulness. Every 20 minutes or so we would break down and start screaming about how bad it smells in this house! I made popcorn to try to cover the smell. Even that didn't work. Brian seems to have an especially weak constitution where the smell is concerned. When we finally head to bed Brian admits that he feels queasy. I ask if he's gonna throw up because I'm ready to boot him out of the bed. I can't handle cleaning up another disaster. Luckily he made it through the night.
Alas, when I awoke Brian had plugged in the little potpourri pot again, and the smell of skunk is clearly still present. And even though it's freezing in here (which is stupid because it's still August) the windows shall remain open until the stank too has passed.

It Ain't Easy Being Green

Donning the rubber gloves and checking out my dog's nether regions was enough of an unpleasant experience for one night. He was really quite good for the entire session. Although, I don't know if I really helped him. I did some research on the web for reasons my dog might have the "itch"...one common reason that surfaced was boredom. Oh gah! I now have to entertain my dog lest he chew his leg off! What kind of horrible pet owner am I that my dog is so bored that he turns to self mutilation for some kind of stimulation? So now I've had to put down my knitting to, you know, play ball with him and take him on a walk. Such a burden.

But the unpleasantries did not end with the wound tending. I LOVE green salsa. LOVE. IT. I'm just crazy over it and can finish an entire bottle in a sitting. However, I've come to discover that the green salsa is not such a big fan of me. I don't know when this began but it is a cruel twist of fate. And approximately every six months I decide that I should try it again. I convince myself that last time the horrible pain I suffered was due to something else I ate, or that I hadn't been sleeping well recently, or that my stomach acids hadn't matured enough to handle the green stuff. And I'm always sure this time will be different. So the sweet husband that Brian is, he bought me a big bottle of the good stuff at the local Mexican grocery. And last night it called my name, beckoning me to give it one more shot, promising me this time would be different. I was skeptical but I thought I could maybe have just a little bit mixed with ranch...the milk in the ranch dressing would mellow out the green salsa right?

Fast forward to 2:00 in the morning where I am curled up on the floor of the bathroom praying for a swift death. I am convinced that the green salsa, upon hitting my stomach lining, has transformed into the mighty fist of the very angry hulk - and he's taking it out on my innocent tummy. This is how it always goes. Me lying there on the bathroom floor, praying that if there is a God (and at this point I'm not convinced there is one because a loving God would surely not have let green salsa ever come into existence) that I would please like to vomit immediately and purge myself of this poison. I don't think that's so much to ask. If God can part the Red Sea for the Israelites I don't think it will take too much heavy lifting on God's part to help me to disgorge the contents of my stomach. This might be sacrilege - but at 2:00 a.m. I simply don't care. But there was no relief to be found, only Reggie, worriedly licking my face and tormenting me with his concern. I crawled back into bed and, thankfully, found sleep.

I am writing this blog to remind myself that, should I EVER get the urge to eat green salsa again, I should be prepared for great misery. PUT THE JAR DOWN FUTURE LISA! This will not end well for you.

Just Another Boring Blog

Here's a little update on the goings-on at the Showalter residence this week. Frankly, it's a bit boring. I've become a boring person. Oh well, I guess there are worse things to become - like a horrible, ugly, jerk. I'll take boring.

Knittery: I'll start with a week ago Saturday. I got up early (8:45 a.m.), on my own, without crying or whining, on a Saturday morning to go...to a knit-in at my local yarn store! I was a little nervous considering I wouldn't know anyone there. Would I fit in? Would they think my project was lame or that my stories were dull? Would they tell me, in as many words, that my kind was not welcome? When I got home at noon Brian asked how it was and I replied, "It was only the best time ever." Something about sitting around knitting with a bunch of people and having idle and interesting chit-chat, enjoying each others company and admiring their work is so relaxing and energizing. Conversation ranged from knitting projects to books we're reading to bras. Even though these are strangers conversation is easy and enjoyable. We do, after all share a common interest which is a good start. And everyone is pretty much looking at their hands, lest they drop a stitch, which provides a safety in sharing. None of this intense eye-contact business. They meet the first Saturday of the month and I intend to become a regular.

Here's the project I finished that day. I call it my "I am Woman, Hear Me Roar" bag. Because it's really the first project I've done completely on my own.



Cleanery: Last week was spring break around here, so I didn't have piano lessons. And the weather was beautiful and it made me want to spring clean. And so on Monday I turned into a mean, cleaning machine. (Here's where that "I've turned into a boring person" really comes into play.) I had to pick and choose my projects because I so wanted to turn this house upside down in my cleaning frenzy. But I got a lot done. What is it about a day of thorough cleaning that makes me feel like a productive and worthwhile citizen? Wow that was rewarding. I really need to wash my windows though. I'm embarrassed to say how long it's been. But the last time I did it a bird immediately flew into my clean window and dropped dead. I decided it was a sign from God that I should not have clean windows. But I think even Jesus would be shaking his head in disgust at the current state of my windows.

Friendery: We've recently started playing Rummy with friends of ours, which is a darn good time. That's how old and boring we've gotten. But I also had a great time at the Theater with my friend Heather on Friday night. We saw a great production of "Annie." Which leads me to...

Vacationery: On Saturday morning we had the most lovely and fun Easter breakfast with my family. We had to have Easter breakfast a day early because I then had to get Brian to Da-Lite so he could catch a flight to Holland. Again. (Over Easter? Really Da-Lite?) So he's trotting around Amsterdam right now and I have another week of solitude. Although this time I'm not quite as excited about it. I talked to him a few minutes ago and told him to tell me what he's seen. All he could say was, "Well, we've seen everything...You know." No, I don't know. Name some names. Give some detail. "Well, we've just seen a bunch of stuff. Everything really." Thank you for such a compelling and detailed account of your travels abroad. I can't wait to hear more about you seeing "stuff" and talking to "people" about "things." But, after finding out that he would be heading to Europe again Brian didn't feel any compunction about Heather and I heading to England!!! So, plane tickets have been purchased and travel guides bought and Heather and I are making plans to have tea with the Queen! (The last part is a lie but I would like a spot of tea while there.)

Pettery: So, for now it's just me and the animals around here. After the trip to the vet last week with Fitty, I now have another animal with undignified itching. Reggie's hind-end seems to be giving him trouble. So tonight I shall don my rubber gloves and attempt to do some unpleasant veterinary-type procedures and see if I can heal him. It should be a very fulfilling evening.

That's all for now. More boring blogs to follow...

Trip to the Vet

There's always a little song and dance that has to be done when I need to take one of the cats to the vet. And today was Lex's turn (a.k.a. "Fitty"). Fitty's been scratching like it's going out of style and he wants to get one last lick in. He's losing hair and losing weight and ugh, can't these animals just stay healthy?

So I'm driving home from work, plotting the best way to trap the cat. I figure the best thing to do is act natural. Fitty can smell a plan hatching a mile away and then he hides in some strange crevice in the house that I can't possibly get to. Then he hunkers down for the long haul forcing me to use the broom handle to scooch him out, which traumatizes him so he starts to drip saliva out of his mouth, and then there's a wild chase around the house which ends with me cursing and experiencing an unsafe elevation in heart rate. (Repeat this once a month for application of the flea preventative.)

I walk in the house as breezy and normal as can be. I don't have a cat carrier so I snagged a box and a laundry basket. I walked right up to him, scooped him up, placed him lovingly in the box and wedged the laundry basket down on top of it tightly. He did the crazy "distress" meow. I assured him he'd be fine. And then I walked away because we had an hour before needing to leave for the vet. (I didn't think I could act natural for very long I guess.) And then he popped the top off my cat-carrying-contraption and escaped! I knew things would now be considerably more difficult.

I went back to plan "a" - act natural. I acted like his escape did not phase me a bit. I then implemented plan "b" - do things that normally lures him upstairs. I opened up sandwich meat. No Fitty. I poured cereal in a bowl. No Fitty. I poured milk in the bowl. Still no Fitty. I went to the basement to scope out the situation. He was in a high area that would require broom handles. I didn't want to do that just yet. So I took the bowl of cereal down stairs with me. I don't like cereal and all we had was a box of year-old cornflakes. But, in a bid to act natural, I sat down and started eating the stale cereal. With trepidation he approached the bowl. He dipped his paw in a few times and started purring. Then I felt horrible for what I was going to do next. So I snatched him up and off we went...with the crazy "distress" meows providing the soundtrack to our car trip.

So now, Fitty's on the roids. (He got a steroid shot.) Let's hope he doesn't get roid rage - because I know where he'll be directing that hostility.

I'll Beat You With My Shillelagh (Pronounced shi-LAY-lee)

BLARNEY! I'm happy to report that the St. Patty's Day party was a lot of fun. Irish music, a quiz of all things Irish, a limerick writing contest, Irish pictionary, a game of heave-ho, silly prizes, and loads of people dressed in green. Oh yeah, and a whole bunch of green food that I hope did not have a "greening" effect, shall we say, on every one's "digestive systems."

My Limerick for Brian, who was, sadly, absent for the festivities:

(To be read with an Irish brogue)

There was a big doofus named Brian

Couldn't win, but he always was tryin'

He'd argue with me

But the best fighter I be

And our spats always leave him a'cryin'.

Where Did January Go?

Basically for the month of January, I hibernated. I slept a lot, watched a lot of movies snuggled under blankets, and, oh yeah, I knit a lot. In fact I knit instead of blogging...or reading, or checking email, or reconciling my checkbook, or talking to Brian, or cleaning, etc...

I think one could say it has become an addiction. I've even signed up for a social networking knit and crochet site, Ravelry. Brian called it my "one true love" last night. But it's a productive true love.

Here are some of the things I've created:


London Beanie for Brian that is just a little too small for him.

:(

Approximately 20 pairs of the classic Grandma Troyer Slippers knit in two months. This one is for a Bears fan.

My first sock. It wasn't even that scary. Okay, it was a little scary. And I still need to make the second one...

Fiddlehead Mittens. This was such a fun project. I took a class to make these and they have a cozy alpaca lining. Mmmmm. But I am not going to lie. I am not very functional while wearing these. I have dropped many things while wearing them, one was a large cup of Mountain Dew in our car. Oh well.

I'm currently trying to gear up for some other projects but for now I'm taking a little break and knitting a dishcloth.

Ways to Waste a Friday Afternoon

Here is our preferred method of wasting a perfectly good Friday afternoon:

Turn on Sirius Radio Coffee House Blend (with the intention of cleaning your house), fall down on the bed, call your adorable dog up to entertain you, and then let said dog have his way with you for about an hour.

Oh, and spend about 25 minutes trying to get a decent self-portrait of your happy little family.

Why Reggie is the Best Dog Ever

On Saturday morning, while sleeping in, I heard a sound familiar to dog owners everywhere. You know, that steady, gagging, sound the dog makes before throwing up. And then I heard the grand finale of puke landing on the carpet. As I contemplated getting up and seeing what havoc was wreaked, I began to hear the sounds of a dog...eating.

Is it wrong that I whispered, "good dog" and rolled over and went back to sleep?

When I got up there was not a sign of vomit to be found. Reggie had cleaned up after himself. This is why he is officially the best dog ever.

Dog Update

Well, I'm happy to report that the tin can of quarters has worked marvels. Reggie finally has learned the walking game pretty well.

He no longer insists on stopping to smell every sign, or flower, or random clump of grass. (He still stops plenty but he knows I'm not going to let him mark the entire trail.)

He no longer poops twice a walk, forcing me to carry around small steaming black bags of grossness.

He knows when I pull the leash in to get on my right side.

He does not bark or lunge at passersby, walkers or bicyclists. Mostly...he's still not fond of the sneak attack (aka bicyclists who come from behind us).

BUT, he is still one big wimp of a dog. I like to walk two miles in just less than a half hour. He way kills my time, what with his panting and falling behind, and looking pathetic, and stopping to catch his breath. I had to stop several times to let him catch up. Then I'd pet him and tell him what a good dog he is (gotta keep the morale up). I don't know what I'm doing wrong here. I have seen him chase a frisbee non-stop for an hour. I have seen him chase a four-wheeler at full speed with great tenacity. But go for one pleasant two mile walk and all of a sudden your a frail little old man dog? Will we ever reach the walking utopia that I dream of?

NOT a walk in the park...

Some of you may know about the relationship I have with my dog Reggie. In short, I believe he is perfect; handsome, funny, sensitive - basically if he were a human man I would probably leave Brian for him. But, we have had a large rift in our relationship this summer caused by his misbehavior on walks.

Here's the deal. I decided this summer that I need to take him on walks. According to the dog whisperer, walks are imperative to keeping a healthy and happy dog. And, I really wanted to get walking for myself too, to get healthier (and happier), and I thought having a little companion would bring lots of good fun. I was wrong.

First of all, he can be a total wimp on walks. Oh he starts out all guts and glory on the walks, pulling on the leash so hard he's wheezing and carrying on from the lack of oxygen he's receiving. But at about mile one, there is a marked change in attitude. He falls behind, he's panting, sometimes he just lays down. Unbelievable! I have to constantly give him pep talks and tell him that he can make it...then he speeds up a little to catch up with me only to fall behind again. The first two times we walked I thought I was going to have to pick up his 55 pound body and walk it back to the car. He was that pathetic. Now I know that he has short legs and I am aware also that his muscles need to be conditioned just like ours do. But I kind of think we have a pansy of a dog. But this isn't my biggest problem.

No, my biggest problem on walks is much worse. After a few walks Reggie decided he is king of the trail. We have a very nice trail to walk or bike on here in Warsaw (we actually have several) that opened up last year. And the great thing is that lots of people use it. And the bad thing (for us) is that lots of people use it, and Reggie has decided that he is the great defender of the path. It is SO EMBARRASSING. Now, this is the dog that loves all people, that would lick a person to death. But on that path, he hates everyone almost equally. He barks or growls at people walking by. And the biggest threat to Reggie are the bicyclists. Oh how those anger and upset him. Lovely people, out enjoying the fresh air, aggressively lunged at and attacked by a dog with short legs. Oh the shame he brings down on our household. And me, all the while, begging him, "be good, Reggie, be good" or "No Reggie, NO!" (said in an authoritative whisper). Little children pull over on their bikes when they see him coming, small children in strollers scream, adults on bikes apologize to me for angering my dog. So embarrassing! I WANT TO BE THE PACK LEADER DANG IT!!! So our walks would end with me frustrated and angry, yelling at him that he was never going on a walk with me again. (But then he would look at me so excitedly the next time I put my walking shoes on and I couldn't bear the heartache of not taking him.) So I wasn't walking very regularly because the whole thing had become a big disaster.

But there is hope in this tale. I happened to find an offhand comment by someone on a blog I was reading last week that suggested that for poor dog behavior one should carry a tin filled with quarters. Shake it in their face when they display the bad behavior and it should make them discontinue. I decided it was worth a shot. (And for all the animal rights activists who do not approve of this method, it is better than me kicking him square in the jaw which I was seriously tempted to do on many occasions.) So, I filled my little tin with spare change and before our walk that evening, I gave it a test shake. Reggie winced and ran behind Brian's legs for protection. I took that as a good sign. Off we went on our walk. Yes, I looked like a crazy lady, walking my dog and shaking a noisy tin in his face while yelling at him. Half way through the walk he seemed to be reconsidering lunging at innocent passers by. The tin was working. But to be sure, I took him on a second walk with the tin. Here is the measure of success. There is a kind looking lady, with a basket on the front of her bike, that is always riding her bicycle on the path no matter what time Reggie and I go for a walk. And he always lunges and barks at her. As we approached her, I became short of breath, my heart racing, whispering to Reggie to "please be good." As we passed he did not react at all to her...and she yelled out, "GOOD DOG!" Which affirmed two things: 1. My dog has a bad reputation, 2. The tin is a success!

The tin is successful enough that I am thinking of carrying one with me at all times. Who wouldn't stop doing whatever it is that's annoying me if I shook a can full of quarters in their face? And as for Reggie and me? Well, I think we're ready to go on another walk.

Bloodbath in the Kitchen

(Original Myspace Post Date: June 23, 2007)

Prologue

On Saturday, my friend Heather, who has until recently hated dogs with every fiber in her being, decided she would meet my dogs and give them a try. I told them both, "This is your one chance to shine! You've got one shot. Make me proud." I sent them out to her as though they were my children who were going to audition in front of George Lucas for the lead roles in the next installment of the Star Wars movies. I was nervous and anxious. Everything was going well. Reggie kept stepping on Heather's feet but that can't be avoided. (It does hurt though.) Annie was being really nice but she just kept shedding which, I thought, lacked basic manners. Nobody was jumping up onto her lap or trying to jump onto the porch swing next to her. We'd been working at this for months. I could almost smell success. And then it happened.

We had come inside and Reggie was happy. Heather reached a hand toward him to pet him. And then Reggie lifted up his little white paw...and ran his claws down her naked leg. She shrieked in pain and I knew we had failed. It was over. My shame was complete. One chance Reggie...that's all we had and you blew it.

The Drama

So, on Monday I decided to don my dog groomer/veterinary assistant cap and take care of the dogs. It was time to clip nails and tend to ear infections. I got out my trusty clippers. Me and the dogs have come a long way in the nail clipping department. I used to be a nervous wreck about it because there is a vein running down a dog's nails and if you clip the nail too short, you'll clip the vein thereby creating a bleeding frenzy. But I've gotten good. I'm faster, the dogs are more patient. The whole process is all kinds of better than it used to be. Brian doesn't even need to hold Annie anymore. She just stands there and is good.

I clipped Annie's nails. No incidences.

I began clipping Reggie's nails and the little guy squirms so much Brian had to sit down with him and hold him. I was almost done. Last paw. Three more nails to go. I make the snip and I know the second I do it that it was no good.

Reggie yelps and looks me square in the eye with a betrayed look. I will carry that look to the grave. The blood begins pouring out of his little dog-finger/toe. I panic and start yelling at Reggie to just "LAY DOWN." I yell at Brian to get some flour STAT! (Thanks to Nancy who has taught me that dog blood does not clot as quickly, or at least the blood coming out of claws, so throwing flour on it helps.) Brian hops up, gets a spoonful of flour. I elevate Reggie's paw. Brian spoons the flour on and we try to stem the flow of blood with paper towels. The flour is working. Then Brian asks, "Is Reggie dripping?" I look at his sweet little face and his mouth is just dripping. It didn't look like saliva. I think it was dog sweat. I yelled, "He doesn't feel good! He's going to pass out!" He clearly looked woozy. (Although it is possible that he was merely confused by my frenzy.) I began pounding on his chest, yelling, "Don't you die on me now!" (Okay that's a total lie. I thought it would be good for the story.) Brian, who maintained a cooler head throughout the ordeal, simply asked Reggie, "Do you wanna go out?" At which Reggie hopped up and ran out the door looking completely unscathed. But all night he licked that wounded toe, looking at me out of the corner of his eye with a hurt and puzzled look.

Later I cleaned the blood spots off the rug in the kitchen, trying to assuage my guilt, scrubbing and quoting Lady Macbeth. (I think you all know the line.)

Epilogue

But no one escaped the bloodbath. After clipping nails I laid my medical gear (cotton balls and q-tips) out on the kitchen rug to take a look at Annie's ear, which seemed to be bothering her. Cleaning her infected ear caused it to bleed. But she was very stoic. Next time, Brian shall do all the dirty work.