Life With Dogs

They say having a dog is like having a toddler. Even my blogging sister said that in her blog after I'd started writing this post in my head, including that first sentence. Great minds think alike!

Having three dogs is like ... well, you do the math.

When we first got Champ, we were amazed that he didn't have any bad habits. Then, gradually, one bad habit began showing itself. He liked to stick his nose in the kitchen trash can. We discouraged him, but all the smells coming from there were too enticing for him to ignore. If there was anything at all in there when we left the house or went to bed, we put the trash can up on the kitchen counter.

But Champ is a tall dog, with very long legs. One time we came home to the trash can on its side on the kitchen floor and trash scattered all around. Certain plastic bags and other containers that had held food were empty.

Another day when we were home, I saw him with his front paws on top of the kitchen counter. There was no food there; he was just looking.

Things came to a head on Sunday. I made scrambled eggs and turkey sausages for a late breakfast and after we finished eating, Ron and I went to the grocery store. I put the trash can on the kitchen counter, of course, but I didn't wash the skillets from breakfast or even put them in the sink. Not even thinking about it, I left them on the stove.

When we returned from the store about 45 minutes later, we smelled a burning smell as soon as we came inside. One of the stove burners had been turned on. I didn't leave it on, because it wasn't one of the burners I'd used. It was a burner that is the semi-permanent home to the heavy cast iron skillet, and I'd used non-stick pans for the eggs and sausages. We figured that in trying to get to the pans to lick them clean, Champ's paws had accidentally turned on the burner. We're lucky he didn't start a fire! New rule: clean all pans as soon as you're done eating. At the very least, put them in the sink and then wash as soon as you can.

Oh, yes. He'd also knocked the trash can off the counter and trash was scattered all over the floor, including the coffee filter with coffee grounds. Sigh. The plastic bag that had held very stale bread was empty. 

We found a new, secure place to put the trash can. Inside the pantry closet. I didn't think it would fit, because the bottom of the lowest shelf is only 24 inches from the floor, but it turns out the trash can is 22 inches tall, so it's a perfect fit!

I don't know if we're one step ahead of him or one step behind, but he hasn't figured out how to turn the knob and open the door to the closet, so he hasn't been able to get to the trash can.

Champ's Story

Champ's integration into the family went much faster and smoother than we ever anticipated. He and Brutus sleep right next to each other sometimes and Wolfie has stopped growling every time Champ comes near him. We're giving all three dogs lots of love and affection and treats.

And Champ has made himself right at home.

Yes, that's a Queen size bed.

His original owners gave him up when they moved. The first couple to foster him had a problem. Right after they got him, the husband had to go out of town for a week for work. When he got back, the dog (then known as Cheup) had bonded with the wife so much, he saw the husband as a threat and was overprotective of her, giving the husband a nip. That didn't go over so well and they returned Cheup to the shelter. The next people to foster him raise chickens and they discovered he liked to chase chickens. Well, what dog wouldn't? As Ron said, if he were a dog, he'd want to chase chickens, too. But fortunately for us, those people didn't see it that way and they returned him to the shelter. So we got him, and we think he's fantastic. He's bonding with both of us equally and we don't have chickens.

He's very smart and what he doesn't already know, he learns quickly. He came to us already knowing the commands "Sit" and "Shake." The other night, I saw he had a plastic jar lid in his mouth that he'd gotten out of the trash can and I told him, "Drop it" and he immedately dropped it. So either he already knew the command or he knew he shouldn't be getting into the trash can.

And of course he's quickly learning Guard Dog Duties from the other dogs. When they're all inside and they hear a noise outside, Champ is sometimes the first one to reach the sliding glass door, ready to go out and investigate. And of course he's learned tapping on the door to come in or go out.

He's very sweet and loves giving and getting affection. He's also very calm and laid back.

We've come to the conclusion that he's half Newfoundland and half Black Lab; Ron Googled pictures of dogs of that mix and they look exactly like Champ. Also Newfs and Labs tend to have very calm demeanors.

Satchmo is taking it all in stride.

Princess still spends a lot of time on top of the cabinets over the refrigerator so she can keep an eye on things.



The Dog Hunt Saga Continues

We decided we should get a new dog sooner rather than later. Wolfie is 10 and Brutus is 8, so we need to get a new one they can train before they get too old. The dogs have always trained the new dog and the results have always been very impressive. Brutus has the bark of a much larger dog and is very alert to sounds outside. It wouldn't be such a rush if they were younger, but Wolfie is already starting to stumble occasionally. Plus the house seems empty with only two dogs, if you can believe it.

We went to the animal shelter a week ago and as of a few days ago, we thought we were going to be able to adopt our first choice (really, our only choice), Roscoe, a very sweet, young German Shepherd. We showed up there yesterday, checkbook in hand, ready to take him home, but due to miscommunication and no communication on several levels among the staff at the shelter, he'd already been spoken for by the Search and Rescue people, who have first dibs on all German Shepherds there (and are allowed extreme flexibility when it comes to deadlines, but that's all I'm gonna say about that).

Mad and sad, we took another look at all the other available dogs there, accompanied by one of the workers there who was sympathetic and not at all surprised by the lack of communication that led to our situation. She knew all the dogs and their personalities, pointing out the ones who were sweet; a lot of them were sweet. It's sad that there are so many dogs at the shelter, and most have been there for many months, but they didn't meet our requirements. One of the major requirements is that they have long, or at least medium, fur so they can be outside in the cold weather for extended periods (during the day when we're at work).

So we left the shelter without a dog.

But there are other places to find a dog, and we'd already started looking online when we left the shelter the first time (a week ago) and knew there was a strong chance we wouldn't get Roscoe.

Petfinder led us to German Shepherd Resuce of Central Colorado and we found several good possibilities. Ron filled out the extensive application form today and then we called the three people we'd put as references to let them know. It's a good thing we did, because the rescue people didn't waste any time! They called us not long after, and they had already spoken to two out of three of our references as well as someone at the vet's office.

After speaking to Ron for a little while, the woman was ready for us to drive up to Buena Vista today to pick up Osa. Another one of our picks, Liam, is not good with other male dogs and Thor has a very strong prey drive and would kill the cats instantly, so those two were definitely out. But Osa sounds perfect; she's only 8 months old (so she'll live a long time) and is already spayed and housebroken. Her former owners had to give her up when they moved to an apartment that didn't allow dogs. She has the same dark coloring as King did, and she looks like she'll grow up to be as big as he was; just look at the size of those ears!

Unfortunately, Ron is on call this weekend, so we can't make the drive up to Colorado (when he's on call, he has to stay within an hour of Taos, preferably less). But we had already planned a trip up to Denver next weekend and it's not too far out of our way to stop by Buena Vista on our way home on Monday; we'll just take a different route, down 285 instead of I-25. We take a risk that someone will adopt her before then, but they seem to have an abundance of German Shepherds available. Wish us luck; we'll keep you posted

King's Story

It all started in late March of 2006. One Saturday morning, Ron and I were sitting at the table drinking coffee and planning our day. The phone rang; it was someone at our vet’s office. “This is a strange question, but do you have Wolfie there with you?” she asked.


“Yes, he’s right here.”

“Oh, good. Animal Control just brought in a wolf-shepherd mix. His foot was caught in a trap. He looks like Wolfie and we were afraid it’s him.”

“No, he’s right here, but thanks for checking.”

We didn’t think any more about the phone call until a couple of weeks later. Ron was petting Wolfie and noticed a hard, bony lump under his jaw. Concerned, we made an appointment with the vet for the following day. Dr. A felt it and took an X-ray. We took Wolfie home and later in the day, Ron and I went back to the vet to get the results. Dr. A showed us the X-ray and talked to us; the prognosis sounded bleak. She was certain it was bone cancer, but wanted to do a biopsy to make sure. She would send it out and we wouldn’t hear the results for a few days, but we were pretty sure of the outcome.

Devastated, we walked out of the exam room and into the waiting room. One of the receptionists behind the desk told us that the wolfdog they had called us about in March was still at the Animal Shelter. She also said he’s bigger and darker than Wolfie. “Bigger?” I thought to myself.

The Animal Shelter is only a block from the vet’s office and Ron insisted we go right away to look at the wolfdog. He was certain Wolfie had bone cancer and wouldn’t live long and he wanted to get a replacement right away. We went over to the shelter to see him and oh my goodness, he IS bigger than Wolfie. Longer by about a foot and taller by about a foot. He was in one of the biggest cages, but it was much too small for him. He could barely turn around in it. There was no natural light; it wasn't anywhere near a window.

We took him for a walk around the parking lot. The paw that had been caught in the trap was still bothering him and he couldn’t put any weight on it at all, so he walked on three feet. He seemed happy to be out of the cage and in the fresh air and didn’t pull on the leash or struggle at all. It was hard for us to put him back in that small dark cage, so we talked to one of the shelter workers about taking him home to foster him until they could find a permanent home. She was concerned since he was probably part wolf, but we told her about our experiences with Wolfie, who is half wolf. The biggest issue with wolfdogs is containment and we had already solved that problem (building the courtyard wall 8 or 9 feet high). So she let us take him home.

The first thing we had to do was fatten him up. Although taller and longer than Wolfie, he was much skinnier. His hip bones were sticking out and so were his ribs. He only weighed 75 pounds, even though he was 7 feet long, from nose to tail. We gave him lots of dog food and ground beef, and to help build up his bones, we gave him lots of milk. This was the start of a lifelong addiction to milk, but it built up his bones and muscle.

The second thing we had to do was change his name. The shelter had given him the name of Shadow, but we already had a cat with that name. For awhile we called him Big Wolf (although we had a dog named Big). Eventually Ron named him King; as a boy, he’d had a German Shepherd named King.

We took King on walks to help rehabilitate his damaged paw. One of the toes had been amputated and the paw pads had been worn away completely. He licked that paw constantly and we wondered if it would ever heal.

We don’t know if he ever lived with people before us. He was half wild, but quickly became Ron’s protector. Unfortunately that included protecting Ron from me; he growled if I got too close, which didn’t exactly endear him to me.

After we’d had King for about a week, we got a call from the vet and learned that Wolfie did NOT have bone cancer and we didn’t have to worry about him dying anytime soon. That was wonderful news, but what would we do with his “replacement” now that he didn’t need replacing?

We now had four dogs and for some reason, that bothered me. It was the idea of “four” more than the reality, but I resisted having four and I kept asking Ron what his exit strategy for King was. Someone he worked with knew someone who had lost a dog in the general vicinity where King had been found. They said their dog was really big, but when they came to see if King was theirs, they said, “Oh, no; ours isn’t that big!” Ron called the shelter, but they said they were full and we couldn’t bring him back.

So we officially adopted him.

His paw pads grew back and his foot became strong enough to put weight on it. That foot became tired before the other three, but we were amazed at the comeback he made.

Of course I grew to love him and I found out that having four dogs isn’t much different from having three. And he grew to love me, too and didn’t see me as a threat (giving him lots of treats and lots of love helped). And the other dogs taught him how to be a dog.

And now we just miss him so much.

R.I.P. King

We came back this afternoon from a wonderful weekend with our close friends in Amarillo to a sad sight. King had died, probably during the night or early in the day. There was a little bit of snow on his body, but he wasn't frozen solid.

He had been in declining health, ever since his Night of Many Seizures as we call it. Medication stopped the seizures, but there were other side effects. He had trouble using his rear legs, and the trouble ranged from minor to major; it was a constant roller coaster from one day to the next. It was hard on King and it was hard on us. We had a feeling he wouldn't last much longer, but we didn't want to face the Big Decision yet. So, in a way, it was better like this. King died peacefully and he wasn't alone; he was with his packmates, Wolfie and Brutus.

Someday soon I'll post King's full story. I think when I posted the stories of the other dogs, I stopped before I got to King's. He had a lousy life before he came to us and a really great life after he came to us. I'll post that story in a couple of days.

Medical Mystery Solved (Maybe)

My dog and I are on the same medication!

Last February, King, our German Shepherd mix, had a seizure. I called the vet and was able to take him in (drop him off) for an exam and bloodwork. The bloodwork didn't show anything wrong, except he was slightly dehydrated. The vet explained it could be a one-time event or it could be the start of epilepsy. He wouldn't need medication unless he started having frequent seizures.

So we started keeping track. He didn't have another one for two months (April) and then he didn't have another one until August 20. Then last Wednesday, he had two seizures within two hours. And it had only been two and a half weeks since his previous one. Clearly this called for another trip to the vet, so we took him in on Thursday morning.

Dr. Kim examined him and said he looked good. We showed her the list of the seizures he'd had. She explained that the anti-seizure medication, phenobarbital, has a lot of side effects, and she doesn't want to prescribe that unless absolutely necessary.

Although German Shepherds are more prone to epilepsy than other breeds, there are other causes of seizures. Such as thyroid problems. When they did the bloodwork last February, they did a basic workup and didn't include thyroid testing. So we asked her to do the bloodwork again, including the thyroid testing; apparently it's a separate test, because this time they took a separate vial of blood to do the thyroid test.

A few hours later, she called us at home with the results. He had VERY low thyroid. The thyroid level for dogs should be between 1 and 4; King's level was less than 0.5. (Also his liver was slightly elevated, but that wasn't a cause for concern as far as the seizures.) So she prescribed thyroid medication and when I went to pick it up, I found out it's the same thyroid medication I take - levothyroxine.

He takes one every 12 hours (I only take one a day) and we'll retest in four to six weeks.

If it's just low thyroid that's causing the seizures, that's easily treatable, with medication that has fewer side effects. That will be such a relief! And Dr. Kim was so reassuring during the exam; when he had two seizures in two hours, we were kind of freaking out, wondering what the future looked like for him. The future looks much brighter now.

Animal Stories

After living with our animals for so many years, I know not to leave certain foods unattended on the kitchen counter for very long or they will disappear. It doesn't even have to be left near the edge of the counter; King is so tall he can reach anything in the middle of the counter. Remember the banana bread? Any kind of meat will be gone faster than you can believe. Butter? Forget it; King will gobble it down in three seconds.

But raw macaroni? Seriously? Yup. Thursday evening I cooked some macaroni and forgot to put away the bag containing the rest of the raw macaroni. When I got home from work Friday morning, the empty bag was on the floor in the living room, surrounded by a few stray pieces of raw macaroni. The rest, of course, was gone. I couldn't believe he (all the dogs are male, but I bet it was King; he's usually the culprit) would eat raw macaroni!

Yes, we feed the dogs dog food, probably a little more than they need. None of them are skinny. But when we first got King, he was emaciated with his hip bones sticking out. And that was after he'd been at the shelter for a few weeks, after someone rescued him from being caught in a bear trap, where he'd been for who knows how long. So I think that experience of starving had an impact on him and now, even after all the years he's been with us, he still wants to eat anything and everything whenever he gets the chance.

But raw macaroni?!?

Hummingbirds

Meanwhile, the hummingbirds are eating us out of house and home. Or at least out of sugar. Plus we've added a fourth feeder. Ron saw it in the clearance bin at WalMart and bought it. We didn't even hang it up for about a week, but when I realized how often I was refilling the three we had, we hung that one up, too. I think it just encouraged more hummingbirds to our house, because I'm still filling the small and medium ones every day and the bigger ones every few days.

They'll only be here for another few weeks and then they'll head south for the winter, flying along the Rio Grande. They'll probably be "stocking up" the energy for their flight, though.

Cats

The Hotel Where I Work is once again trying the cat solution to deal with the mice. Thursday night when I got to work and went through the kitchen on the way to clock in, a quick movement of black at my feet startled me. I thought it was a cat (or a very large rat), but I wasn't sure until a few minutes later, when I saw the golden eyes of a cat. At least this cat is skinny, which means it's hungry; maybe it can catch some of the mice running around the kitchen.

Speaking of which...

This past Monday morning, when I was cleaning at home, I discovered the fresh remnants of a mouse that one of our cats (my money is on Satchmo) had killed and partially eaten, leaving only the head, the tail, and a bit of fur connecting the two. It had to have been one of the cats; a dog would have swallowed the mouse whole. The rest of that day, Satchmo walked around the house, looking like he was on the prowl for another mouse. That's why I think he was the culprit. Good kitty.

The Case of the Disappearing Banana Bread

Monday when I went to the grocery store, they had a couple of very large produce bags stuffed with perfectly ripe bananas, for the low price of $1.49. I bought one of them; Ron likes to eat bananas for the potassium and they were the perfect ripeness to make banana bread.

I follow the old family recipe except I put in more bananas and less oil. I timed everything so when the chicken was ready to come out of the oven, the banana bread was ready to go in and bake while we were eating the chicken. After a lifetime of waiting for the banana bread to cool completely before eating, a few years ago I discovered the delight of eating it while it's still warm, the butter melting into the bread. Mmmm.

Ron and I ate two pieces each before I packaged it securely in a ziploc bag and placed it on the kitchen counter, far back, away from the edge.

Tuesday morning when we got up, I saw an empty ziploc bag on the floor, but that's not unusual; the dogs have been known to get in the garbage at night. Then I saw the empty space on the kitchen counter where the banana bread had been. "The banana bread is gone!" I said.

We knew the culprit: King. He's the only one tall enough to reach things on the counter like that. He may have shared it with the others once he got it off the counter, but I doubt it. He probably gobbled it down in two or three gulps.

At least I had a lot more bananas to make more bread. You could even say I had bunches more.

Ron had the brilliant idea (and I can't believe neither of us have thought of this sooner) to clear part of a shelf in the pantry closet as a place to put all our bread. That would keep banana bread safe from King and all the regular bread, rolls, etc., safe from Princess.

So that's what I did. And the second loaf of banana bread as well as the whole wheat bread and honey wheat English muffins remain safe from our voracious animals.

Big -- Good News and Bad News

Here's the latest on Big, the dog who refuses to die.

He was due for his rabies shot and the vet also required an exam to renew his prescription for carprofen (a NSAID). But it's so hard for him to walk around and impossible for him to get up in the Jeep, so we arranged for one of the vets to make a housecall. We scheduled the appointment for August 18. Then he seemed to be getting worse, so last Friday (the 13th) I talked to the vet and said instead of a rabies shot it might be time to euthanize him. She suggested a change in medication - a steroid and a stronger pain med. So I got the new meds that afternoon and by Sunday he was doing so much better it was unbelievable. He could actually stand up and walk and sit or lie down without his back legs going out from under him. And he seemed happier, too. He'd never yelped in pain (this is the dog who chewed through extension cords when they were plugged in and never yelped then, either), but he had obviously been in pain and with the new meds he was in much less pain. He doesn't smile the way Wolfie does, but he had a happier expression on his face and especially in his eyes.

Dr. Sue came and did the housecall Wednesday and we told her about his improvement. She said the steroids could buy us another year or so and we talked about gradually decreasing the dose (steroids have bad side effects on dogs, too, ya know) while keeping him comfortable; it's a balancing effect.

I pointed out some sores on his underbelly (near what's left of his private parts). She had noticed them, but examined them further and said they're tumors -- sarcomas, (cancer) and she said they are probably what will "do him in" in the end. Typically if they're removed surgically they always grow back and at his age, the anaesthesia would be very hard on his body.

So who knows how long he has left? Knowing Big, it could be years. Five years ago we thought he only had six months left. What's most important is his quality of life. If he's in pain and can't get around easily, it's time to let him go, which is why we'd thought about letting him go a few days ago. But the steroids and pain meds are helping, so we'll see how things go.

He has more lives than a cat. I keep saying that he'll outlive us all and we'll have to name a guardian for him in our will. Any takers? He's really turned into a sweet and mellow dog in is old age. He didn't growl at the vet until she started trimming his claws; they're gigantic and not easily trimmed. We put on his Hannibal Lecter muzzle for the vet visit, just as a precaution.

Cat Tales

Natasha's beloved, beautiful cat died a few days ago after a long (but still too short) and happy life. Here is a picture of him in all his furry glory that she sent to me a few years ago.




I started thinking about the cats we have now and the cats that came before them. A new cat never replaces the previous cat, but it fills up part of the hole left when a cat dies.

I've noticed some interesting thing. Winston filled up part of the hole that Panther left in our lives and hearts when she died. Of course the two never met, but we always say that Winston has Pantherisms. He loves to sit or sleep on the back of any of the motorcycles in the garage, just as Panther did. He's very vocal, especially in the morning, when he wants his breakfast, just as Panther was. There is one huge difference; Winston loves the dogs and loves curling up with them. Panther hated the dogs and loved to torment them even when they hadn't done anything to her.

Then there's Princess, who filled up part of the hold that Shadow left when she died. She has Shadowisms. When Ron is reading in bed, Princess loves to get up on the bed and plop down on the magazine or book he's reading, just as Shadow did. None of the other cats have ever done that. Then there's the fried chicken; Shadow loved fried chicken, to the point where she would try to take the piece out of our hands while we were eating it! Princess loves fried chicken, too, although she isn't quite that rude. She just tries to take the piece off of the plate when we put it down. She's more "chirpy" than "yowly" in her meows.

Cats are so great! I'm so glad they share their lives with us; it would be so empty without them.

The Rain Finally Goes Through the Drain

I apologize for not posting anything in such a long time. It's an odd combination of having so much to do, but none of it was worth blogging about.
It's shedding season and the two wolfdogs are shedding big clumps of wool all over the place, inside and out. We never did get around to shaving them this year, because spring came so late. Sometimes we pull the clumps out of them, the ones that are ready to come out on their own. In just a few minutes there is a pile of wolf fur that's bigger than a whole cat. Other clumps come out without any pulling and there's always a trail of wolf fur all over the place. I try to pick it up daily.

It's also monsoon season, when we get rain nearly every afternoon. Sometimes the showers are strong and brief; other times they're slow, steady soaking rains that last for a couple of hours or more.

Any kind of rain wreaked havoc on the rear courtyard, where the dogs spend their time when they're not indoors. They like to gather by the iron gate so they can see out and watch the goings on. So a low spot developed there and any rain would create a deep and large mud puddle. It would stay there for days because there was no drainage under or through the gate. Four dogs (16 paws) plus mud puddles and/or mud plus light-colored carpet equals disaster!

So last Saturday (a week ago today), I started tackling the problem while Ron tackled the problems with his computer (he installed a new motherboard, new hard drive, and new operating system - Vista), but it was much harder than I thought it would be. I dug dirt out from directly underneath the iron gate, to create a place for the water to go, and hauled a couple of wheelbarrows of dirt to the low spot. Then I ran out of steam.

On Sunday, with his computer working properly again, Ron and I worked together and it only took a couple of hours to finish the job. Ron shoveled dirt from the dirt pile into the wheelbarrow and I rolled the wheelbarrow around and dumped the dirt in the low area. That way each of us could rest while the other worked. After 15 or so loads, we took a well-deserved break, and went inside to cool off and drink Gatorade. Then we went back to work. I smoothed out the fill dirt, creating a slightly mounded area while Ron dug a small trench on either side of the mounded area and going underneath the gate and continuing for a few feet on the other side of the gate.

Then we went inside and sat back, waiting for the regular afternoon rainstorm. Except it didn't come!

Finally it rained overnight, nearly half an inch (which doesn't sound like much, but is a lot for around here) and no mud puddle. Success! We've had more rain since then, of course, and the drainage continues to work! The dirt is muddy for a little while, but quickly dries up since there's no puddle of standing water. And no puddle of standing water also means far fewer mosquitoes.

I Got It - Sort Of

I got the job at the vet, but it's only part time, two and a half to three days a week. All day on Tuesday and Thursday plus Wednesday morning and the occasional Saturday morning. The good part about this is that it will leave me the other days free for job interviews and/or freelance work. I start this Tuesday. The other job with the police department hasn't been posted yet, and they're off Monday for the holiday, so it won't be posted until Tuesday at the earliest. I'm still looking for other work in the meantime; part time just isn't enough income.

It's been about minus five every night for the past several nights, someimes a little colder, sometimes a little warmer (this morning was a balmy minus two). Those temps seem normal now and it would take something like minus ten or below to seem remarkable. The high temp today may actually get above freezing, something that hasn't happened in several days.

The wolfdogs, of course, love it. Wolfie and King prefer to be outside when it's like this. They spend their days sleeping on the ice in the backyard. Big and Brutus go outside once the temps get above 10 or so, and try to stay in the sunlight. Brutus is so funny; early in the morning he wants to go outside (he sits by the sliding glass door and taps on it), but as soon as he steps out and realizes how cold it is, he immediately turns around and taps on the glass to come in. His new nickname is Sugarplum. "O.K., come back in, Sugarplum," I tell him.

Brutus

The next dog to join the family was Brutus. He was our first Shelter Dog.

In May, 2003, Big was having more trouble with his rear legs and we were certain he had less than a year to live. We thought it would be a good idea to get a "replacement" that Big could train to be a guard dog while he was still able to.

So we went to the animal shelter "just to look around." Anyone who goes to an animal shelter just to look around and leaves empty-handed has very strong will power.

When we pulled up in front of the shelter, some of the dogs were in the outside pens. The first dog we noticed was Brutus. First, because he looked like a miniature Big (but with tiger stripes!) and second, because he looked so happy and friendly. We looked at the other dogs, but kept coming back to Brutus. Then we went inside and talked to the shelter people. Brutus (as they had named him) hadn't been there very long. He had been turned in by people who raised sheep; they told the shelter, "He's been hanging around the sheep corral trying to bite the sheep." He was probably just hungry. He wasn't aggressive or vicious at all. We took him for a "test drive" around the parking lot on a leash and he was just happy and friendly.

He was such a happy dog, everyone at the shelter loved him. One of the volunteers (who is also a vet tech at our vet's office) had been considering adopting him. She was off that day and they called her at home to see if was OK with her if we adopted him. She gave her consent and we filled out the paperwork and took him home.

Big and Wolfie didn't exactly welcome him with open paws. There was definitely a period of adjustment all around. Eventually the three of them became friends and everything has been smooth since then.

He's a boxer mixed with pit bull, but all his records at the shelter and now at are vet just say, "Boxer Mix" because of rampant pit bull prejudice.

Brutus weighs about 60 pounds. For most people, that's a normal-sized dog, but for us, it's small, so one of his nicknames is Little One (also Puppy Face). But he has a very deep bark that sounds like it's coming from a much bigger dog. Big has done a great job training Brutus how to be a guard dog.

And all these years later, Big is still hanging in there, but we don't know how much time he has left.

Meanwhile, Brutus knows how to enjoy life.



We've since replaced that 20-year-old couch with a new leather one and none of the animals are allowed on it, so he spends a lot of time on the bed.



Rough life for a shelter dog, isn't it?

Wolfie

The next dog to join our family was Wolfie. He was a complete surprise to me, but Ron had been secretly planning and researching for quite awhile.

It was April, 2002. Around lunchtime, Ron called to say he was coming home for lunch and bringing a surprise. I was very surprised when he got home and I saw what was in the back of his work truck.

"Oh my God, you bought a coyote!"

"No, it's not a coyote; he's a wolf."

Actually he's half wolf and half German Shepherd, but he looks like he's all wolf, and wolf puppies look like coyotes. He was only 12 weeks old.

I didn't know it until then, but Ron had been researching wolfdogs for quite awhile. At the time, there was a man in Taos selling those wolfdogs out of the back of his truck in various parking lots. Although he took excellent care of his dogs and really loved them, The Powers That Be eventually ran him out of town (and even out of the state).

I'd like to say that Wolfie was no trouble at all from the very beginning, but I can't. He didn't know us and he missed his pack. The first two nights, Ron put him out in the front courtyard (he wasn't housebroken). He was safe there, but he was unhappy and he made sure everyone for miles around knew it. He howled all night long the first night and most of the second night.

For the third night, Ron tried something different. He cleared a space in the living room and put down the old futon mattress. Then he and Big and Wolfie snuggled up for the night and all three slept together. That did the trick. The three of them bonded and Wolfie knew he was part of the pack. They did the same thing the following night, just to reinforce things. After that, Ron was able to go back to sleeping in the bedroom and Wolfie and Big did just fine together.

As Wolfie grew older, he became (and stayed) very sweet and affectionate.

The only problem that remained was containment and that took a long time to solve. Containment is one of the main issues with wolfdogs and one of the leading reasons some wolfdogs don't work out for some people.

The walls of the rear courtyard were about five feet high at their lowest point. That quickly became much too low as Wolfie grew. And so began the process of building the wall higher. And higher. And higher. Every time we thought we had it high enough, he would leap over it. I became very frustrated, convinced we would never get it high enough to contain him. Finally we got it up to nine feet high and we dug a "trench" about a foot deep in front of the wall. That took away his momentum when he tried to jump. We finally had him contained!

At the same time we were building up the walls, he was finding other means of escape, mainly through the gate. We have a gate in the rear courtyard with one of those lift-and-slide latches. After watching us open the latch, he learned how to open it with his teeth! His nickname then changed from "Houdini" to "Too D*mn Smart." We couldn't figure out how he was getting out until I saw him actually opening it with his teeth. We quickly installed a second latch; it's higher up and must be opened at the same time as the first one. He's not that smart.

He has since been given a kinder, gentler nickname by my mother. When she visited us a couple of years ago, she was a little nervous of Wolfie at first. But he completely charmed her by being sweet and gentle, even putting his head in her lap. So now when I talk to her on the phone, she always asks about him in the same way, "How's my Dear Sweet Wolfie?"

Wolfie's fine -- healthy and happy and in the prime of his life. And now he's no trouble at all. And I'm so glad he's part of our family.

Big

In earlier posts, I shared the stories of our two cats, Winston and Princess. Now it's time for the dogs, in order of seniority (can you tell this is a Union household?).

So I start with Big. He's very special to me for two reasons. First, because he's my very first dog and second, because of the magical, mystical way he came to us.

It was February 2001. The house down the road had been broken into a couple of times. Ron was getting ready for a business trip to Chicago. He would be gone for a week and didn't like the idea of leaving me home alone. "It sure would be nice to have a big guard dog," he said. The very next day (it's true!) we saw a big dog running though our back courtyard, playing with our next door neighbors' dogs. "Where did that big dog come from?" we asked each other. Then we asked the next door neighbors, but they didn't know either. When I saw him chase their cat, I chased him off, even squirting him with water, but he kept coming back. He knew he belonged here, even if we didn't know it yet. He seemed to be saying, "I'm here about the guard dog position. I understand you have an opening."

We made one final effort and put an ad in the "Found" section of the newspaper. We got one response from someone who said the dog wasn't his, but if no one claimed him, he'd be interested in taking the do off our hands. Nope, by that time, we had decided to keep him.

First we named him Big Dog, but that was quickly shortened to Big. He's 120 pounds of solid muscle. He has a deep, ferocious bark that would scare off any burglar. He's been the perfect guard dog; no one has ever broken in, or even come close. As we added more dogs, Big trained them to be guard dogs, too.

Of course it hasn't been all sunshine and roses. He was only about a year old when he came to us. He was still in that "destructive puppy" stage, chewing anything and everything he could get his paws on, especially electric extension cords (still plugged in!) and a car seat belt. He finally outgrew that and now he's no trouble at all.

He is getting on in years (large dogs don't have as long a lifespan as smaller dogs do) and has degenerative joint disease in his rear legs. He's hanging in there with the help of a medicine called Rimadyl. We're just emjoying the time we have left with him and letting him enjoy the time he has left with us.

Labor Day Weekend

Yes, I'm still alive. It's just been crazy-busy around here.

We spent the long Labor Day weekend out at Scott Valley Ranch. We went out there Friday evening. Ron went first, in the RV. I followed about 45 minutes later in the Jeep. By the time I got out there, he had the campsite almost completely set up. I helped with the finishing touches while Ron started the charcoal grill.

Then we sat back and relaxed, drinking wine and watching the sky change colors. It was so beautiful, one of the most beautiful sunsets we'd ever seen out there (and we've seen plenty of beautiful ones). The clouds were a color that's the perfect fusion of orange and pink. They slowly turned gray as the evening storm approached. We had a spectacular 360-degree view of the sky, mountains, and trees. One small vacant house is the only "man-made" thing in view. It's sheer heaven out there.

We ate outside, enjoying the grilled steaks, baked beans, and Greek salad in the fresh air. Ron also grilled a bunch of Bratwursts so we could eat them in the next couple of days.

As the sun sank lower in the sky, it grew so chilly I had to put on a sweatshirt. After such a long, hot summer, it felt wonderful to be so chilly I needed a sweatshirt!

Eventually we went inside the RV to settle in for the night. Soon afterward, it started to rain. There's nothing like being inside a small RV during a rainstorm. The pounding rain makes a thunderous noise. Of course, so does thunder, and we had that, too, but at least it wasn't very close.

Saturday and Sunday were wonderful, relaxed days. The mornings and evenings were pleasantly cool and the days were warm, but not hot. Both days we went home for a couple of hours, driving the Jeep and leaving the RV and campsite set up. It's about an hour's drive each way, but it's worth it to go home and take a shower (we've never fired up the RV's hot water) and feed the dogs and cats.

Sunday afternoon when we went back to the ranch, we took Wolfie and Brutus with us. They love to run free there and they've been vaccinated against rattlesnake bites. Snakes are everywhere out there; I wish they had a rattlesnake vaccine for humans. The dogs had a great time. Their very presence got the local coyotes riled up. When it got dark, we could hear the coyotes yipping on three sides of us, trying to entice the dogs to "come out and play." But we put Wolfie on a long tether and Brutus stayed close by, not wanting to leave Wolfie.

Monday in the late morning, we packed up and went home to enjoy the rest of the long weekend. It's so beautiful and peaceful out at Scott Valley Ranch, but it's also comfortable and relaxing at home.