Happy Birthday to George, the 15 year old beagle OR How to tell when it's really a party

George (photo by Robert)

Our neighbors know how to do it up right. Robert and India have a 15 year old beagle named George who has the absolute sweetest smile I have ever seen on a pooch. He is a true southern gentleman with a great doginality and delightful demeanor. He's a little hard of hearing, but when you're that advanced in age I think you can be forgiven such things.

For his 15th birthday, Robert & India decided to throw sweet George a birthday party. Like a lot of kid parties, it really was a gathering of pet parents and their dogs. We brought our Rat Terrier Holly to the festivities. There was a silky Dachshund who spent most of her time in her owners' arms because of a severe dislike of dogs who are larger than she which pretty much meant all the other dogs at the party. Life can be tough when you're little.  There was a personable ~45 pound Cocker Spaniel and an older Benji looking dog who simply kind of felt like he "ain't got time for that," regarding the silliness of the other dogs. There was the year old Wren, a Great Dane. I love that this ~170 pound dog was named after a tiny fragile song bird, but Wren couldn't have had a more gentle demeanor. She was inquisitive and loving. She spent a good portion of the evening trying to engage other dogs with a play stance. That really is something to see!

Wren with John for scale
(photo by India)

India had put a lot of thought to refreshments for the canine and human attendees to the party. She grilled beef burgers which had nothing but beef in them so that they would be dog safe. She washed low sodium bacon in water so that she could decrease the amount of salt in them and grilled them up. The trail mix she set out had peanut butter chips and Reese's pieces in lieu of raisins and chocolate. There were Bugles, corn chips and bean dip for the humans. We pulled beer bottles from a large tub of ice water which turned into an impromptu water bowl for some of the dogs, particularly Wren who could reach the bowl the easiest.

At some point in the evening, I had to leave to pick up my older daughter from her friend's house. I was gone perhaps a total of 20 minutes doing this errand. It was one of those cases of perfect timing.

I returned to the party to the scene of our hosts and party guests with mops and disinfectant. The merits of no-rinse wood floor cleaner were being debated for this bio-hazard type situation. I walked through the house to see that the pressure washer was being used on the deck. I'm pretty sure that wasn't a planned thing.

Like a reporter coming to the state only after a tornado has ripped all the homes off to Oz, I started asking around.

"Ah, you missed it..." just about every story started. The following is taken from first person accounts of the Event.

Miss Wren the Great Dane had eaten before she came to the party. Amounts of the kibble she was given varies according to some accounts. She had been fed upwards of 4 cups of kibble to a metric ton. This reporter is not entirely certain of these facts as she did not see the remains of the Event.

Sweet Wren, delicate thing that she is, started feeling a little off near the front door of the house. A witness claimed that he could see her neck muscles tense and an ungodly plunger like sound alerted all the party attendees that something was amiss. By all accounts, Wren never slowed her stride as she went from the entryway, through the living room, swiped by the kitchen, went through the dining room and out on the back deck. All the while, she spewed, nay splattered the floor and all surrounding areas with the tonnage of kibble, water, and lovely dog treats from the party like nearly full pieces of low sodium bacon and little hamburger patties.

The disbelief of the humans was only second to the disbelief of the other dog party go-ers at their good fortune. There was a literal buffet of dog food on the floor. The humans quickly called on their dogs to "leave it," in regards to the partially digested hamburger patties and bacon. In the dogs' defense, it was the first time they could have gotten their paws on those high level treats without the help of their humans. I hope each one of those dogs got a piece of bacon that hadn't already been inside of another dog as a reward for good behavior.

To give you an idea of the scale of the vomitus that dainty Wren made, Robert wisely got his snow shovel out of the garage to aid in clean up. India said that she couldn't believe that there was still any vomit capacity left in Wren after she left the house and yet there seemed to be exactly the same amount of vomitus on the back deck. My husband said it was as if somebody had a huge sack of wet dog kibble over his shoulder and opened a corner of it while running through the house.

Turns out that sometimes swallowing ice can make dogs throw up. Also, Great Danes have to be careful with having too much water at a sitting. For Wren in particular, she cannot drink unregulated because it does make her vomit. Add to that, she's only a year old and as such is still very much a puppy.

Many of the human party go-ers seemed a little frazzled but for me, I left directly before the Event and returned after all the drama had happened. The clean-up was efficient and effective. India had owned a Great Dane in the past so she's experienced. I can only enjoy the humor.

But hey, how many of us have been to a party where one of the celebrants had a little too much to drink and threw up all over the place?

It might, however, be the first time a snow shovel was used to clean it up.

Dogs heal

My uncle is very ill. The doctors say that there is a strong chance he won't make it through the week. He's my dad's last brother. It's been a roller coaster these past few weeks because he was admitted to the hospital for a pretty serious medication interaction, but the underlying problems have become overwhelming. We had hoped that as soon as the first problem cleared, the others would follow suit. That has not happened.

But this isn't about that. This is about something that I pursued that I didn't even know was possible and I think would help people in the end.

My uncle's family dog is a Jack Russell Terrier. Fonzi is a clever dog who essentially trained himself by simple observation. He learned that when Uncle would ask someone to pass him the remote, he was referring to that black thing with all the bumpy chewy things on the one side. He learned that when Uncle would ask someone to get his slippers, he meant those soft fluffy things for Uncle's feet. After a while, Uncle just started asking Fonzi for those items and the dog would fetch them. He was Uncle's constant companion at home.

The past few days, things have taken a turn for the worst and it weighed on me that my uncle and his dog might never see each other again. My aunt said that the dog would sit in Uncle's chair and that she had explained to Fonzi that Uncle was sick in the hospital -- that Fonzi must understand.

Thing is, in the past, Uncle always came home after being in the hospital. How could Fonzi possibly understand?

So I set to work. I talked to my aunt at length about bringing Fonzi to the hospital. I think she was skeptical. I begged my mother to advocate for the dog visiting but my mom doesn't really care for dogs. I don't think she sees the point of them. Her loss. And I tried to get a hold of my cousins but I initially couldn't get through. So armed with a little bit of information I started making phone calls.

I contacted the charge nurse at the hospital. We had a long conversation and I told her that I didn't think it would be long so there was an urgency to this being arranged. She told me that they had a policy for animals visiting but it was rarely used. She wasn't fully familiar with it but she promised to work with the family to make this a reality.

I called Fonzi's vet and asked if they could give him a health certificate. Unfortunately, they have to have seen the animal within 30 days so that was a no go. I luckily got my cousin on the phone at that point and told him what the process was, who he had to contact at the hospital, but it all hinged on getting the health certification. My resourceful cousin was able to find an appointment for the dog for that very afternoon and today Fonzi was in my uncle's hospital room.

I don't know if Fonzi knew what was going on. From my brother's account of the visit, Fonzi was freaked out and barking when he arrived at the hospital. It was a strange place; lots of bright lights and odd machines. He was very agitated. But when he entered Uncle's room, his behavior changed. He calmed and was let onto my uncle's bed. He licked his master's hand and Uncle was happy to see his little friend.

I want to believe that this gave Fonzi a little bit of closure. At least he knows where Uncle is. Perhaps he doesn't know that Uncle is dying but maybe he does. Maybe he senses that this could be his last time with him.

But here is what I know in my bones. I know that if I were dying or grievously ill, I'd want my dog. I know that when I'm feeling a little sad she'll find me and curl up in my lap or in my arms. She knows the value of simply presencing me.

And I know that today, I gave my uncle a small comfort. Better than flowers, I did something from these two thousand miles away that was just as real and tangible.

I helped get him kisses from his dog.

Dog owners unite

Here's the deal people. There are really 2 types of people in the world: Cat people & Dog people. There are people who have both, and I don't know how to categorize them. Invariably, they will talk about how their cats behave like dogs -- all friendly and liking their human staffers. But I think if you value the dog like characteristics of your cats, you should just accept that you like dogs.

I believe that dogs are the superior pet. Their love and enthusiasm, their ability to learn simple commands, their general cuddliness -- they are better in most ways to cats. Some cats are cuddly. Some have dog like attributes. But as I said before, if you're going to say all the ways that your cat is doglike, get a freaking dog.

There is one place where dogs are lacking though. They are dependent on their owners completely. Cats are independent. You don't train a cat. You service a cat. But a dog, you need to teach, interact, socialize, and most importantly to your community, clean up after. This is where we are failing our dogs.

Dog owners, I implore you, CLEAN UP after your dogs. The cat people of the world will forever be snooty and act superior  simply because there are douchebag owners out there who don't clean up after their dogs. You might have seen the movie Bromance. One of the main characters makes a choice not to clean up after his dog. The whole time I watched that bit unfold on screen I wanted to reach into the movie and throttle that character.

Today I went walking my dog in a friend's neighborhood. I will never do that again. I was amazed, I mean DISGUSTED, at the amount of dog poop there was not just on the grass beside the sidewalks but on the sidewalks themselves. I even encountered a large black dog with a collar walking off leash in front of his house -- no invisible fencing because the dog was on the sidewalk and street in front of the house.

Come on, people.

Would you let your non-verbal toddler outside of your house unsupervised? Heck no! Would you ever consider leaving your baby's dirty diapers in the street? Of course not! And yet, dog owners do this all the time.

Those dog owners give dogs a bad name. They need to have their licenses revoked. They need to have a sticker on their state IDs that say, "unfit to own a dog."If they want a furry creature to hug and love, but want to train it the same amount as they train their pet goldfish or hamster, then they should get a cat.

Switch sides. Please.

Rodents

My mother is visiting. One of her most quoted quotable was in relation to my pet rats. I told her that we bought them from the pet store and she said, "You *paid* for them?" Did she really think that we went outside, trapped some wild rats, stuck them in a cage and told the kids, "Here's your new pets!"?

This morning when we were talking about the rats and how I still missed them, I told Mom that unfortunately we can't get pet rats anymore. At least, not as long as we have Holly in the family. She asked why.

Me:  Holly is a rat terrier. Rats are her...

Hubby: racial enemy. Holly gets an extra hit die roll against them.

Forcast

My dear friend Susan is encouraging me to join her on a half marathon in May. Things you should know about me, I am not a runner. I am not a jogger. I am barely a walker. But I like the idea of running. I think maybe this could be good for me. At least I feel glad to go for the walk because my dog needs the exercise anyway.

Then I remembered that I live in the Seattle weather zone. By that I mean, we share the exact same climate as Seattle. Famous for its rain, we get it too. Just not the fame. Nor the traffic. But I think I'm veering off course. I'm trying to stay true to my training schedule so this half marathon thing isn't as daunting a goal.

I wasn't totally unprepared.  Despite it being rainy and awful, I put on my running shoes and an allegedly waterproof coat. I even put a coat on the dog. (A note about clothes on the dog:  Holly barely tolerates wearing her collar. She is joyous when we take it off at night. So when I do put a harness on her, she's already sad. But when I reach for her coat she is positively stricken. She'll stand there, stock still, with her ears pinned so far back that they touch in the back of her head and her eyes look at me pleading. They seem to say, "What did I ever do to you? Why do you torment me so?" But it was raining pigs and cows today, so despite her protests, she wore the coat and was much drier for it.)

I had to pull Holly out of the car when we reached our destination. She knew better than me that this was no weather for walking. But out into it we went and she endured. I tried to do that thing that Susan told me to do, walk for 2 minutes then jog for 10 - 30 seconds, rinse, repeat. But Holly stopped me as soon as we got to the grass, quickly did her business and then looked at me with those pleading eyes again. "Did my thing. Let's go home. Can't you see that it is wet out here?"

But against my dog's better judgement, I started out with my walk/jog training regimen. 7 minutes into it, my feet soaked, my pants soaked, my allegedly waterproof jacket turning out to be a passable sponge, my fingers freezing and my job approval ratings from my dog reaching an all time low, I turned around and headed back.

Later that day I managed to go for a more leisurely walk with another friend. At least I got out. But this time I wore waterproof boots, woolen socks, ski pants, ski gloves, a touk, a properly waterproof coat, poly-pro long johns, and carried an umbrella.

I was still cold.

Days like this have me questioning the life choices I've made that led me to live here instead of where I was born:  Hawaii.

I heard a conversation on the radio today that while meant to be funny, kind of turned a knife in my gut. Some woman called in and asked, "Any idea what the weather will be like tomorrow?" The DJ said, "Well, considering that tomorrow will be a day between September and May in Seattle, I'm going to take a stab at it and say that it's going to be rainy."

I know, I moved here with eyes wide open. Who knew I was such an idiot when I was in my twenties?

Holly -wog

Poor little Holly has such a fun name. All kinds of neat nick names can be made from it. Holly-wood. Holly-wog. Holly Berry. Hollyanna.

A couple of weeks ago, lil' Miss Holly proved that she loves me far more than any of my human children ever could. Maybe it is just that they've not been faced with proving their love for me by putting themselves in mortal danger, so perhaps I am a little unfair in my assessment.

We were at the beach for our last summer hurrah. It was a perfect day for it. The tide was low earlier in the day so when the water came in, it was nice and warm. There was a breeze so we weren't too hot on the sunny day, but it did make for choppy waters. I think the waves were maybe 3 or 4 inches tall but when you're Holly sized (she was maybe 8 - 9 pounds at the time) they're tsunami sized waves.

Lil'T wanted to go swimming so I walked out into the surf with her. Holly is not a swimming dog. Her breed historically lived on farms and hunted mice. They were always far from the sea. Holly doesn't even like to go out in the rain. But she followed me and T to the shore where she howled and barked for me to come back to the dry land because it was treacherous in the water. Surely, T and I should know better than to risk our lives in the sea. T and I played in the surf and Holly looked on completely dismayed. Somewhere in that doggy brain, she made a decision to save our lives and she jumped into the surf, braving waves breaking over her head, swimming (more like thrashing) because she's not an artful swimmer. I've covered how here breed is not a water dog, right? And she swam into my arms. At that point, I was holding both the dog and the pre-schooler. Lil'T was laughing and having a great time. Holly was crying, wet, miserable, shaking in fear, and cold. So I walked the 3 yards to the shore and plopped her on dry land. Again with the crying, whimpering, and howling. And again with the jumping in, thrashing in the water, swimming out to Lil'T and me. It happened about 5 or 6 times.

Our friend Kiko, who is a veterinarian, was with us at the beach. She saw the whole pathetic display of Holly's undying devotion. She was asked if this was normal for dogs to behave this way. She said that it wasn't normal. That it bordered on pathological. Kiko said that I should spend time away from Holly and let her learn to be on her own a little more.

Pathological?

I think I'm okay with she and me being codependent on each other. I mean, it isn't like I'm enabling her to do drugs or alcohol. She just has a slightly unbalanced attachment to me and I have to admit, I do to her as well. That throwing her own mortal fears to the wind and jumping into the water to "save" me, well, that just sealed it.

Devotion = Holly

Mother of four

Dog ownership is making me a much better person. I'm certain of it. I think because I no longer have a little baby in my arms, I am throwing myself completely into the training and teaching of this little puppy. I've read and reread an obedience book as well as one specifically written for her breed. At 3 months old, she is solid on coming to her name, sitting & waiting for her food, and walking nicely on the leash. She's learning settle, up, down, bed, stay, and the all important "do your business." I'm planning to teach her to fetch each of my kids by name and also my husband. That would be fun to send her out Lassie style. I also want to work on her psychic abilities. Like if I think to myself, "I need to take Holly out for a walk," she should instantly get her leash. Just you wait, she might learn how to do it.

She does display the usual dog like behaviors. While we NEVER intentionally feed her human food, in Holly, hope enthusiastically springs eternal. She sits alert and hopeful as I'm cooking or underfoot as Lil'T is eating. The other day, I was cutting up a zucchini. In the obedience books, they say that dogs like having raw veggies as treats. So when I dropped a piece of zucchini on the floor and she snatched it up like manna from heaven, I let her have it. I figured it would do no harm. That is until my husband came upstairs and saw the puddles of green vomit on the living room floor.

Hubby: Gross! There's green vomit all over the living room floor.

Me: Oh no. That's my fault.

Hubby: *pause* You vomited on the living room floor and didn't clean it up?

So for now, Holly only gets doggy biscuits for treats and she's a perfectly happy puppy. I may give her some sweet peas if she learns how to read my mind. Heck, I'll give her Chateaubriand if she learns to read my mind.

We don't negotiate with terriers

This is Holly, our rat terrier. The breed is also known as Feist Terrier. It gained its name "Rat Terrier," when Teddy Roosevelt's White House was infested with rats and mice. His Feist Terrier named Skip deftly removed the rodents from the White House and the breed became known as "Ratties." (Enough with the history lesson, right?)

So little Holly is now 11 weeks old. That picture is at around 6 weeks old. She's much bigger now. She's about 2-3 pounds in that picture. She's now around 4 pounds. She's a tank! What she lacks in size though, she makes up for in terrier feisty temperament.

I'm trying to be a good pet owner. I try not to yell at her, never have rubbed her nose in her numerous accidents around the house, and have never spanked her. I guess having kids has shown me the way to better patience. However, I almost sent her flying the other day when she playfully nipped at my face and bit my lip. I know she was playing. But it took all my self control not to throw her on the opposite wall when my lip started bleeding. You'd be proud of me. I left the room and then did some research on how to stop this playful nipping.

I did the stuff the books tell you to do, like substitute and reward an appropriate chew toy when she is chewing on something wrong, like my fingers. But this nipping thing! I was at a loss. I did my BING search (yeah, we love Bing and are rarely using Google now) and discovered that the puppy's litter mates and mother teach the pups what is appropriate with biting and how to inhibit their urge to bite. What she needed was play dates with other puppies.

Holly had her first play date last night with Julia's two Havanese pups, who are a few months older than she. It went really well. It was a strange experience for me because if my human kids were to bite and jump on their playmates, I'd have to intervene. But whenever the other pups nipped at Holly and she scampered away, I felt an inward thrill of self satisfaction. I did not jump up and say, "So what, Holly? You can dish it out but you can't take it?" That'll learn her good.

All in all, they seemed to have a fun time. There was a bit of "King of the Hill" played over Holly's bed. Whenever Messi or Deco would get on her bed, Holly would run to have them give chase, circle around, and then jump back on her bed. When they turned their backs, she'd jump on them and then run back to her bed. Very clever, Holly.

She comes when called and responds to her name. She's learned how to sit and wait for about 10 seconds and we're increasing it. She's also pretty solid on doing her business outside. She still does use the puppy training pad in the bathroom from time to time, but it is getting better. She's learning how to walk on a leash without pulling. That part is a constant struggle and makes walking with her take ages, but hopefully these summer walks will make for pulling-less fall and winter walks. Crate training is finally going well. She sleeps in her crate nightly and it makes for my nighttime slumber to be more sound.

Now I don't know how I went this long without a dog in our home. She's such a welcome addition to the family.