Dog Updates

Elliot IV, King of Humpland (known as Psycho Dog in earlier times), pulled the nail of one of his dewclaws and required minor surgery for it. Since he was being anesthetized, we had the cyst on the back of his head removed. It will be strange not to feel that cyst there, as it's been there most of his eight years with us.

Boogie's ear fur became uneven during our time in TX, making one of his ears look longer than the other, so now that I am a PetWorld employee, I felt it almost necessary to get him groomed. The salon manager worked on him, and I think she did a great job.


The Butterball has become a virtual appendage of Kate. Here is a photo of them taking a nap together. Miss Butter follows Kate from room to room. She is not impressed with the premium dogfood we serve, and typically needs hand feeding to get her appetite aroused. I feed the dogs their morning meal before I leave for work. Kate has no school this week, so she slept late, and Butter with her. Thus, Butter ate her breakfast in bed this morning. Tough life for a dog who was facing death in a shelter a week ago.

Buttercup: An Amazing Surprise

Yesterday I was surprised by a telephone call from a friend whom I know through dog rescue, a woman who breeds and rescues Australian Shepherds. She asked if I were still involved in rescue, as she probably remembered that I had shut down Old Gold Senior Dog Rescue two years ago. I told her that I had stopped my direct involvement in rescue entirely, although I was moving back into the field of animal welfare via my new job as a pet training instructor. After a few minutes of exchanging Katrina stories, Dina told me the reason for her call: a local shelter with whom she is involved had taken in a Golden Retriever female as an owner turn-in. The dog was reportedly doing poorly in the kennel situation, acting quite depressed, and, as an owner turn-in, would be subject to euthanasia in a day or two unless they could find her a foster home. She was only three years old.

The timing was right, Joel consented, and today, on my day off, I picked her up and drove her directly to my home store for a badly-needed bath. Her original name is Buttercup, and I had a metal identification tag made up with her name and our address. Buttercup is overweight, but has very soft medium gold fur. It is tempting to call her Butterball, particularly as she is coming to us at this time of year. Her mouth and the fur around her lips always look wet like a child's Kool-Aid smile. Amazingly, she is heartworm-negative and up-to-date on shots.

Buttercup rode nicely in the minivan. She explored our property as best she could, carefully observed and incessantly pestered by the other dogs. Although she has a history of not tolerating young children, she seemed to like Kate's company. I haven't yet decided how I can advertise her for adoption, but so far she looks like an easy keeper. Although much larger, she is roughly the same age as Boogie, so if they get into a playful relationship, it will be excellent exercise for her.

Leaf Blowers, Scourge Upon Humanity

It is written in my baby book that even as an infant I disliked people who spoke loudly. In 50 years, my strongly negative attitude toward noise pollution has only intensified. Most of my strongest pet peeves relate to noise pollution. For example, when I think back to living in an apartment in Los Angeles, as I did during my clinical psychology internship, the two primery aversive memories that stay with me are being repeatedly assaulted by the cacophany of leaf blowers and car alarms. Each one cries out in its own way, "My convenience and satisfaction are more important than yours." The gardener at work in the early morning hours wakes multiple apartment dwellers and their pets with each pass. At least if he were vacuuming the leaves and debris up into a mulch bag, he might be performing a useful service. Instead, he is clearing his own flower bed or sidewalk and moving the mess to the communal curbside, so that the gardener at the adjacent apartment complex can blow it back a few days later. For this we need to be awakened?

Anti-theft car alarms are another pet peeve of mine--again an unpleasant memory of Los Angeles living. Now, far be it from me to discourage someone from using a security device to guard his or her own vehicle from thieves. Indeed, using an effective device reduces insurance premiums for the rest of us. Even the occasional accidental activation of an alarm is understandable. But why must a driver with normal vision and hearing require that the alarm signal its activation with a piercing beep? Anyone who fails to disengage the auditory signal is thumbing his or her nose at those of us who cherish civilized living. I don't care if you set your car alarm. Do you think that you look cool aiming your key at the car and clicking your key as if it were a TV remote? Is the beep to alert us so that we may admire you and your car? Spare me--I really don't care.

And finally a word to the videots and media addicts among us: Why do you presume to know what I want to hear blaring on your boombox, car radio, or television? Whether it is your boombox ruining my sunbathing time at the pool, your car radio's bass shaking my home and car as you drive by, or the obnoxious chatter of your televised screaming sportscaster or obscenely exaggerated cartoon character voice booming from your television when I visit you, or--even worse--when I am in a nearby room and still can't escape the noise, you are a vile, putrid polluter, and your taste sucks. Please do the world a favor and buy yourself an mp3 player, an iPod, or some earphones. Thank you and please have a nice day.

Dog Trainer

I am starting my fifth 8-hour day of training to be a pet training instructor. I’ve watched the area trainer, who is a marvel. Nearly every dog she interacts with follows her directions as if he’d known her all his life. Granted, she has the best selection of training treats to be found anywhere--we trainers have ready access to everything in the store—but her confidence and consistency are what really does the trick. There is a fluidity in her movements to which the dogs respond as one totally natural animal to another. A remarkable role model.

My first two days on the job were to be spent studying the training manual, which covers elementary information on canine behavior and positive reinforcement. The studying was broken up by various exercises meant to familiarize me with the store layout and its merchandise, and to desensitize me to initiating conversation with patrons and their pets. Within two hours of my arrival I approached a pair of German shepherd pups, one of whom leapt up and bit me on the thigh. It didn’t break the skin, but it left a bruise. I felt rather disheartened, as I had held my hand out to the pup in a position calculated not to express dominance. Moreover, I had looked away in order to void appearing confrontational. Nonetheless, he bit me. I guess he and I had read different books on canine communication. It can only be my fault. I don’t remember seeing any frightened stiffness in his gait prior to the lunge, but I may have overlooked it. At least it was not a serious injury. Perhaps it was a simple miscalculation of jumping distance with an open mouth: puppy teeth are sharp, and collisions are frequent. But his angry barking after the bite made me suspect that he had wanted to bite.

It reminded me of a vet tech at my regular veterinarian’s office, who was lifting a large dog from the surgery table to place it in a cage, when the dog—still partially anesthetized--bit his face. The young man could not drop the dog, and had both his arms full. There was nothing he could do but place the dog where it was supposed to be and, only then, attend to his face. His lip and jaw were cut clean through and bleeding profusely, but he bore no ill will toward the dog, because he know that bite inhibition is a function of the higher brain centers, and this dog was too drugged to control an automatic behavior. Of course, all this theory is well and good, but imagine the reaction of the tech’s poor wife, who was working the front desk of the veterinary office, when she had to drive her husband to the emergency room! Although the majority of dog bites do NOT become infected (in contrast to cat bites) he needed the attention of a plastic surgeon to minimize scarring.

Vicarious experiences like that one help me keep my perspective. However, I was ill equipped for my first at-home training session. On my first day off, I happily loaded my senior Golden, Elliot, onto a 6-foot lead and took him to our large front porch to do some individual training work. He sat for treats without even being prompted. He did not remember “down”, however, so I had to add the visual cue of lowering my hand to an inch above the cement. On our second try, Elliot sprang upward and drove his head into my nose. Afraid that my nose might be broken, I grabbed up the lead and took him back into the house. Although it felt as if Elliot had driven my nasal cartilage into my frontal lobes, he did not really do so, so I have no shiners or swelling to show for that aborted training session. Elliot managed, though, to punish me for trying to treat him like a PetWorld dog instead of a family member. Later in the day he continued to seek me out as usual. I was glad that I had not screamed at him in anger, but simply terminated our training. I do hope, though, that I won’t be sent fleeing from our training area with tears running down my face as they were on my porch.

We Are Home

The hurricane saga is almost over.

Our immediate goal was to get ourselves and our belongings home in one trip. We rented a truck one-way, choosing one that was otherwise unnecessarily large, because only a large truck could tow Joel's Accord.

Wednesday we started packing the rental truck in earnest. The process went so slowly that we wondered if we would be able to do it ourselves. First, the vacuum cleaner, whose performance has deteriorated steadily since we bought it, stopped picking up any debris at all. That meant that we could not use the carpet cleaning products that we had bought. Not good with four dogs in the apartment. We hope that the substantial damage fee that we paid for the four dogs will cover the shampooing.

After driving the truck back to the apartment from the rental facility, Joel was so uncomfortable maneuvering the truck that he decided that there was no way he could tow the Honda behind the truck as we had planned. He decided to fly back to Houston Thursday from Metairie to pick up the Honda and drive it home. We were still stuck with the large truck, which was unnecessarily large, given the sparseness of our Houston furnishings.

How many PhDs does it take to load a moving truck? Joel believed that the three computer desks should be packed first because they were heavy. I argued that, given their dimensions, they were not really that heavy; i.e., that it was their density that was more important, and that several boxes of books and other personal belongings were likely to be heavier, given the same footprint. After insisting for two days that removing the tops of the computer desks would make them lighter and more maneuverable, Joel finally acknowleged that even removing the top would not make it posssible for us to load a desk onto the moving dolly and slide it out the apartment door.

We started calling labor pools. Unclear how many additional hours would elapse before moving men even arrived, we considered the relatively low cost of the desks ($100 each) vs. the cost of movers (at least $175). As we cannot fit the three desks in our house anyway (we thought Joel might be able to use one in his new office, once he found an office), we decided to leave the yet pristine desks in the apartment. Perhaps some the apartment complex's employees might be able to take them home.

We packed everything that we could lift into the truck, and in any order possible. It was already early afternoon. I wanted to flee with the animals and leave the mess behind me, but I felt it would be disloyal even to suggest that idea. Joel himself suggested that I take the birds, the computers, and the three large dogs and hit the road. It was already three p.m.

An hour into the trip, one of the bird cages fell forward off the bench seat, spraying seed and drinking water across the van interior. At least the birds were unhurt. I got in by nine, but Katie and Joel arrived hours later. As well as the three computer desks, Joel left behind a folding console table, the new toaster oven, the pooper scoopers, and the bread box (at latest count.) There was a lot of food that had to be discarded because it would not fit into our small ice chest.

Joel flew back to Houston the next morning to pick up his car, so Katie and I had to unload the truck ourselves. Within minutes of starting the process, I twisted my ankle, Katie pulled a box back onto her toenail, and the dogs got out and ran loose in the neighborhood. I wanted to call a friend to see if he could round up some folks to help us unpack the truck, but I discovered his phone number was no longer in my cell phone. My Palm Pilot (where I keep my contact list) needed recharging and I had no way to charge it, and my computer wasn't online yet. It could only get better, right?

But we're back. The dogs were ecstatic to be home, and--particularly with my bad ankle--I was happy to have the doggie door and not need to let them in and out all day. We still have the old refrigerator full of rotting food in our kitchen, but it is sealed and not malodorous. We visited three different stores today, and did not find any refrigerators in black that would fit our space. But Katie is registered for school, we bought her uniforms, and the process of re-establishing ourselves is well underway. Tomorrow morning the new schedule will be posted at PetWorld, and I will learn how soon I get to test my ankle on a new job.