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.

Deja Vu All Over Again

This is the afghan my Great Aunt Mary made for me when I was a teenager. She had made a similar one for my mother, using up leftover bits of yarn, and I liked it so much, she made one for me. She surprised me with it when I went with my parents to New York for a brief visit.

Fast forward many years.

Our first cat Panther loved that afghan. She loved to curl up on it and sleep or sit on it and watch the world go by. We used to put it on the floor next to the sliding glass door so she could watch the birds in the backyard.

When we took her to the vet for the final time, to be euthanized, she was so weak we didn't bother with the cat carrier. I wrapped her in the afghan and held her in my arms while Ron drove the short distance to the vet.

Our kindhearted vet offered to have Panther and the afghan cremated together, but we told him we wanted to save the afghan for future cats. When we got home, we placed the afghan on what became the memorial shelf. It was where we gathered photos of Panther, placed the tin containing her ashes when we got them, and placed the tins containing ashes of other pets as the years passed.

Then a few months ago, we decided to bring the afghan back into the land of the living. We washed it and folded it into a good size and then placed it on the dining room table (one of the places the cats like to be when we're not eating (or even when we are, come to think of it)). It didn't take long for Satchmo to discover it. He curled up and went to sleep, looking happy and peaceful.

It was so great to see another cat sleeping on that afghan, especially a black cat. It was almost like having Panther back. Our other cat Princess discovered the joys of sleeping on the afghan, too. On one or two occasions, I saw the two of them sleeping side by side on the afghan, but usually if one cat is on it and the other one wants it, a catfight ensues.

After one too many catfights (more than just fur was flying), we moved the afghan from the table to the couch where it remains today, usually occupied by a large black cat.

Life is good. I think Aunt Mary would be happy to know that her afghan is still used and loved after all these years.

Grilling

For quick weeknight meals, we love our Foreman Grill (thanks, Barbara).

Salmon steaks in six minutes! Boneless chicken breasts in nine minutes! T-Bone steaks in nine minutes! It's fantastic.

But on the weekends, we like to do batch cooking so we won't have to cook for a few days. On the weekends, we use the Weber Grill.

Charcoal! Mesquite charcoal! Such fantastic flavor!

As you can tell, it's well-used. We've had it for years and it's never failed us yet.

Yesterday we grilled/barbecued two cut-up chickens and they just fit on the grill.

I sprinkled them generously with Mrs. Dash's "Table Blend" and Ron the Grillmaster grilled them, sometimes over direct heat and sometimes over indirect heat, turing them and moving them as needed, but always with the cover on (except for the turning and moving).

When they were almost done, he brushed on barbecue sauce, a combination of two different kinds.

Then he grilled them a bit longer, until they were crispy and very slightly charred in a few places. And they were delicious! They had that perfect mesquite flavor enhanced by the barbecue sauce.

And we won't have to cook for days!

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.