Oliver, Sunset, Bluebirds, Wrens, and Lewie the Blewy

It's been a while since I posted a photo of my little Oliver, so here are two. I don't have a story to go with them...just wanted you to see how cute and sweet he is. Twelve pounds of love!

Also don't have a story to go with the sunset, except that it was at the end of a horrifically hot and humid day, and obviously beautiful!

I haven't had much luck with bird stories, but will try one more time. Three weeks ago, Mr. and Mrs. Bluebird began testing this hanging birdhouse on the deck. Knowing that they sometimes start several, we weren't sure if this would be a keeper. It was. Mrs. Bluebird is now sitting, and the birds should hatch within the week.

Mr. Bluebird has been quite busy keeping those pesky sparrows away, though they haven't been as much of a problem this year as last as most went on to greener pastures when we had the hawk hanging around. And, apparently, the maurading mockingbirds have been busy harrassing someone else's nest, as they haven't been a problem either ... yet. He sits here next to or in this old feeder above the box or in a nearby bush, and is very attentive to Mrs. Bluebirds needs. I'm disappointed, though, that the birdhouse is facing away from the kitchen window, as we'd have to have a tall ladder to be able to see what's going on inside, and they might not be happy if I took it down or turned it around at this point as it wouldn't face out into the yard.

Why, you may be asking, is this pathetic looking geranium covered with a cereal box? Because of these...

On the hottest porch in town, which gets blazing and reflected sun from sun-up til 2pm, in a geranium that I somehow managed to baby thru the winter in the house, is now home to a nest of Carolina wren eggs. I know that mama birds know how to take care of their babies, but I was thinking she might not have known exactly how hot this spot would be in our unseasonably hot June. After watching her hanging her head out and panting, I cut up a cereal box and put one half of it on top of the plant to block the sun, and would take it down in the afternoon. The plant is blooming now and blocking the sun, so I can leave them alone (except for occasionally putting a little water on the front side to keep the plant alive). She didn't seem to be bothered by the box or by me coming and going out the front door, though I did put reflective tape and a note across the steps requesting everyone to move slowing and quietly! If all goes well (and we all know that it doesn't always), we will have babies in the next few days. And I will not become emotionally attached this time!

Last but not least, I'd like to introduce you to my birthday gift from the two grandsons back in May - Lewie the Bluey, a male blue betta. I haven't mentioned him before because I wasn't sure if he was going to live due to the 'tomato sauce incident', or that you would believe me if I told you what happened! It would sound like a 'fish tale', just like the one I read at a blogger friend's place when she posted about a fish she had had as a girl that was blinded because of a broken bowl, which I thought was a fish tale but that she swears really happened.

Anyway, I was cleaning Lewie's bowl and had put him in his little plastic holding dish, then went to put him back in the cleaned bowl with the dark green net. Did I mention that I was right next to a cluttered sink, that I didn't have my glasses on, and that he's a dark blue with a greenish tinge? Oh, and maybe I had my head up my butt?

Long story short, I thought I had got him back into his bowl from the net, tossed the net in the sink, looked back at the bowl, and there was no fish. Looked in the sink, saw he was still in the net, picked up the net, and he fell out...into a can of tomato sauce from the night before that was soaking to loosen up the dried tomato sauce residue. I hurriedly tried to get him out, pouring the water into my hand thinking I'd catch him, but fish being fish, he slid back down into the cluttered sink, underneath dirty dishes and silverware.

I finally got hold of the poor fish and put him back into his bowl, but the next week was touch and go. I thought at the very least he'd be blind from contact with the tomato sauce, or emotionally damaged from his tour of the sink. For the next week or so he wouldn't eat. Nothing. I don't know how he survived at all, actually, and was preparing the boys for his imminent death. Luckily, that didn't happen. He is alive and well, eating like a pig, and so glad to see me when I walk into the room. He's right here at my computer, and I do believe he knows the sound of my voice as when I speak he does rapid laps around his bowl. And that's not my imagination!

More Eva Jean

After several weeks of stomach virus and mind numbing back and hip pain, I haven't been able to focus on anything long enough to write about it. But I figure I can't go wrong with some photos of the white goddess.

Eva Jean and her flying duck taking a nap.

Enjoying a rare warm winter afternoon.

Indulging in an afternoon nap with blankie.

Tonight brings another time change ... bringing us closer to spring! It can't come soon enough for me! I look forward to seeing everyone's photos of spring flowers.

Man Saves Dogs in Fire

There was a story on the local news this morning about a man who came home to see smoke coming from his house, and when he opened the front door there was a full on fire which had started in an electrical chair. Against pleas to the contrary, and despite what we're always told not to do, he went in to get his five dogs. The man and all five dogs survived, though he did have to go to the hospital for observation of smoke inhalation and burned throat.

Back when we had five dogs, four cats, and five birds, I worried about this all the time. I had one of those stickers on the door about 'save my pets', but knew that someone probably wouldn't be able to find and save all of them. And I didn't know how even I could get all of them, since cats generally hide. In fact, I had a cousin whose house burnt down, and a cat and litter of kittens died under the bed.

Now that we're down to three dogs and a smaller house, I think it would be easier to save them. But would I, could I, should I try to save them if the house was on fire? Would I actually go into the house if I came home and it was on fire? I have two grandsons - would I want to risk losing my life of seeing them grow up to save an animal? Could I stand outside and watch my house burn, knowing that my animals were inside?

Well, of course, the obvious answer would be that I would have no choice but to stay outside if it meant possibly losing my own life. But there are so many scenerios. If I were already in the house, of course I would call them to me and scoot them out. What if they were in the front of the house and I was in the back? Would I have the presense of mind to throw a wet blanket over myself and crawl to them? And should I?

I'm just musing here. Every pet owner who's animal is a beloved family member has thought about this one time or another, I think. The fear being that the house could catch on fire when we're not there and the animals being trapped inside. Not a pleasant thought, and not likely to happen. But it's up there with some of those other things we think about on occasion, like dreams about our teenager being in a car accident, our toddler being kidnapped, a spouse having a heart attack. Those worst case scenerios that we practice our reaction to, that we imagine the worst and best outcome to.

Or is it just me?

A Dog's Unending Loyalty

My cousin sent me a link to this video ... a must see if you love dogs! I could write a thought provoking post about it, but I think it stands on it's own merit without any embellishment by me.

http://www.comcast.net/video/1279003333/a_dogs_unending_loyalty

My Canine Companions

In October 2008, we had to have our beloved Annabelle, a shih tzu mix, put to sleep after a year of serious health problems - cushings disease, a brain tumor, and congestive heart failure. It wasn't the first time we had to have this done, and certainly won't be the last, but it was hard none the less. She was our fluffy butt, our cutie patootie, our princess, our lap dog in a house of big dogs. We had had a bad year all around, also losing another dog and three cats to old age. Down to two dogs, I have waited the longest I've ever done before going in search of a new lap dog to fill the void that her departure had left.

I decided to have Annabelle cremated instead of burying her under a bush like we usually do with our pets. In her honor and memory, I planted an Annabelle Hydrangea in the front yard. Perhaps serendipitously, her bush started to bloom during the same week that I found another dog to adopt.

A few weeks back, after months of searching the rescue and shelter sites, I stumbled across a picture of a shih tzu named Bentley (below). It was love at first site, and the shih tzu is one of my favorite dogs. Two years old, housebroken, good with other dogs. A week later, after many emails back and forth with the rescue group, Garrett and I headed to Petco to adopt our newest family member. I could hardly wait to have Bentley in my arms, had dreamed about it all week.

Bentley was a handful. He grudgingly let Garrett and I hold him and carry him around the store, but he yap yap yapped, especially at any other dogs that came around. He wouldn't make eye contact or focus on us at all. In fact, all he could think about were the mice, hamsters and rats in the cages, and we could hardly set him down that he didn't head straight to their cages. But that was ok, I wanted him anyway.

So up to the adoption table we went, money in hand that I had saved up from my house cleaning and babysitting. Told her I wanted him. She said "there's another couple, an older couple who travels a lot, who are also in love with him. Wouldn't you like to look at this other dog that I brought with me?" Well, no. But to humor her we stepped in front of a cage with what looked like a small collie or sheltie puppy named Bear. It wasn't a collie or sheltie, it was a longhaired chihuahua.

Two of the best dogs we ever had were chihuahua mixes, Lulu and Gracie. I have always wanted another chihuahua, but there was no way that was going to happen with our big boxer and terrier. Yet here one was, rolling around on his back, showing us his belly, prancing eagerly at the wire, kissing Garrett's hand, asking us to take him out and have a look, to give him a chance despite having one of the worst overbites I'd ever seen. Bear willingly and excitedly let Garrett lead and carry him all over the store. We went to a quiet back corner, and Bear climbed onto Garrett's lap, snuggling up with a look of adoration and content. He snuggled in my arms and licked my face. He looked in our eyes, focused on what we were saying. So up to the table we went, money in hand, and told her that we wanted him.

Let me tell you, this was not an easy decision for me. I had already let myself love Bentley (go back and look at that face!), so, as I was filling out the adoption papers, I was literally sick to my stomach and near tears. Not that I didn't want Bear, because no one would have trouble loving this little dog. But if Garrett had not been with me, if I had never taken Bear out of that cage, this story would have had a different ending.

Let me introduce you to my new dog, my sweet companion, now named Oliver. Garrett thought it looked like he had "one of those black things on the pizza" on his nose, which was an olive, which is a girl's name, so we settled on Oliver. He's eight months old, eight and a half pounds, and the sweetest and most well behaved puppy you'll ever meet. He was going to have his work cut out for him, because I was about to take him into a home with an unstable pack.

As cute as he was, as sweet or well behaved or playful, he was about to enter a home with an unequal balance of power between it's members - specifically between the two human people and the resident boxer, Eva Jean. It would take all of Oliver's charms to win her over.

This is Eva Jean, a full blooded boxer. (She's actually much prettier, happier and sweeter looking than this photo indicates!) She came into our home five and a half years ago, when I was working at a vet's office. She was four weeks old and had drank from a mastitis tit and developed sepsis. She was in a coma for several days when the owner decided to have her euthenized. James (the vet) and I had worked so hard on her, and when I asked him what he thought should happen, he said he'd give her a few more days. I said if they'd sign her over to me, I'd like to give her some more time.

Long story short, she survived, was paralyzed for a month or so, came out of it, and became a much loved but high maintenance and medically challenged family pet (with muscle atrophy, inflammatory bowel disease, the back of a fifteen year old dog, and hair loss possibly caused by alopecia). But, first and foremost, a boxer, with the most prolonged adolescence of any breed in the canine kingdom. At some point she decided that David was her man, and any of our other dogs needed to stay away. She and Charity had been best friends as young dogs, but now were fight til death enemies, and we became a house divided three years ago after their last horrendous fight that left them both badly injured, both physically and emotionally. David and I were devastated, not just by the brutality of their fights, but because our once harmonious and even admired family of animals had become flawed and unstable.

Eva Jean is such a sweet girl, and a typical boxer clown who's devoted to her family. But her temper is very scarey. She adores the boys, and they can do just about anything to her and she doesn't react. But bring Charity in the room, and she turns into a pit bull. Hence, the baby gates. For the last three years, we've shuffled Charity and Eva Jean, keeping them divided with the gates, one coming out at a time for family and play time. Very inconvenient, but very necessary. Eva Jean is very much a people dog, and was socialized well in her first year, but the female boxer in her doesn't meld with the female terrier. Cesar the Dog Whisperer and Victoria Stillwell (It's Me or the Dog) would be appalled and ashamed of the way we've handled this whole situation! We made all kinds of plans and had ideas for a reconciliation, even have a muzzle so that we could at least let them get together in the same room, but it just hasn't happened, and time has passed without us mitigating the situation.

This is Charity (above), a 50+ pound terrier mix. She came to us through an airedale terrier rescue group that had sent me to a shelter in Atlanta to get her. It was one of those urgent situations, her time was up and she was to be euthenized that afternoon if she wasn't adopted. I took her home with the intention of fostering her, but we fell in love with her the first hour she was with us, and that was seven years ago! She was approximately eight months old, and the first thing she did was gather every pillow and stuffed toy in the house and pile them in the living room. She's very people shy, but has slowly come out of her shell - as long as you don't make sudden moves or talk in a stern or loud voice! She would run and hide from the boys when they were younger, but has slowly but surely started seeking them out or at least stays in the room when they're here. Sadly, since she and Eva Jean have been separated, she has become a bedroom dog (albeit with tv and radio) in need of a playmate. Even though I would go outside with her, she could not be coerced into playing or romping, wanting just hugs and petting.

Enter Oliver. He has surpassed my expectations of him! He adores both boys, and I have been so proud of their respect and gentleness with him. In fact, the biggest problem is that when they're here they fight over who gets to hold or play with Oliver! We've gone very slowly (he's only been here three weeks), but he's fit in and won all hearts, including Eva Jean. I would never allow them to be alone, but we're definitely working toward at least being able to be in the same room together with supervision. I take them out back together, and Eva Jean wags her tail and wants to play, but I'm having to tell her to keep back, as much because of her size and exuberance as anything else, and she's accepting that for now. And, of course, I walk them together.

Conner, the three year old, has already gotten a little ggrrrr from Oliver because he was trying to carry him around too much, but they've since made up, and Conner knows now that he has to only pet Oliver and let him sit on his lap, no carrying or dragging by the leash. His favorite thing is for the two of them to get into the kennel together.

But the best thing of all is this photo above. Oliver and Charity are friends, despite the size difference. I was brought to tears at the sight of Charity dancing and running around in play mode for the first time in three years. They've even played tug of war and frisbee, and first thing in the morning, when I let Oliver out of his sleeping crate, the two run to each other with excitement at seeing each other. I couldn't ask for anything better.

Oliver's definitely a keeper, even though he wasn't my first choice. He's a good friend for the boys, a lap dog for me, a playmate for Charity. And really, who couldn't love a little boy who's so eager to please and so darn cute? I mean, really, look at that face!

You may be wondering why I've devoted so much space to these three dogs. I guess because being a pet owner in your sixties is different than when you're in your twenties. I never thought anything about bringing home a stray or going to the shelter and bringing them home to the other four dogs and three or four cats. But now, there is so much more to think about. Number one, of course, is Eva Jean and her issues that have to be worked around. My daughter and her husband actually didn't want me to get any more animals now that we were down to the two, because they live in fear that David and I will die at the same time and they'll end up having to integrate our animals into their household (though they're both pet lovers!). And then there are the expenses - Eva Jean is on an outrageously priced dog food, and flea and heartworm preventatives are equally expensive.

The idea of being too old to have pets is beyond my wildest imaginings. It just will never happen. To not have at least one to hold and interact with ... how sad! My whole life can be documented by the animals that have shared it. I will, however, try to keep it under control, to use my head instead of my heart. I'll concede that a cat is out of the question right now, but reserve the right to consider it at a later date (when Eva Jean is gone).

Three seems to be a manageable number for right now, and, even though it's not the stable pack of years past, it'll do just fine. They are each special in their own way, and are loved, and make our family complete.

"Angel": Look Out for the Animals (very long, but important)

Today's choice for Musical Monday selection for the juke box is "Angel" by Sarah McLachlan. Most everybody knows that it's the theme song for the ASPCA, and that it rips your heart out when it's showcasing animal neglect.


Several months back, I was visiting a relative and telling them about some of my neighborhood dogs who are severely neglected by their owners, how it drives me insane, and how I have a tendency to step in and try to fix the situation before resorting to animal control (or because animal control won't do anything, which is a story I'll cover another time)(and I'll talk about my issue with what I call benign neglect another time also). She, in turn, told me a story about some dogs in her neighborhood that made me say "I'll never again apologize for interfering in the lives of my neighbors and their pets when I feel that there is neglect going on."


I may have some of the details of the story wrong, but I think the basics are true. Coming into her neighborhood and turning the corner onto her street is a house that had two dogs. Almost the entire neighborhood passed this house every day, sometimes several times a day. It was summer. It was hard keeping track of what everyone was doing, who was working, who was on vacation, etc. One day they received a call from someone down the street. Next door to the house on the corner. Could Mark come down and help. The people in the house on the corner had abandoned the two dogs in the back yard, and the dogs were dead. It was summer. Temps were probably in the 90s. They had no water. For days. And no food. For days. By the time anyone noticed, even the next door neighbors, it was too late.


I was so upset by this story. Could not get it out of my head. Especially when trying to go to sleep. Imagining how they had suffered and how they waited and waited, in vain, for their "family" to return. But it made me see how responsible (not nosey) I have been in watching my neighbors and their pets, validated my concerns over a water bucket consistently turned over or no bedding on a 20degree day or night. I vowed to remain vigilant and never again apologize for it (even though I'm probably referred to as busybody.)


Recently I was looking thru the Humane Society website, and read a story about a dog named Sunbear, who had been abandoned in a townhouse for SIX WEEKS ... and nobody noticed. When he was finally found, he was locked in a laundry room with a bag of dog food on the outside of the door. He died a few days later. A lady who heard of this story was so upset that she decided to do something about it ... she initiated a site called the Sunbear Squad. Well, let me share a section of website with you.


© The Sunbear SquadNirva created the Sunbear Squad, a website with advice, inspiration and materials to set up neighborhood pet watch groups. The idea is to walk, bike, or slowly drive through your neighborhood on a regular schedule, learning to recognize all of the pets who live there and noticing when people move in and out.When people move out, she says, pay special attention to make sure pets are not left behind.“Be a Good Samaritan,” Nirva advises. “Go stand near the home and call out repeatedly for the pet; he or she may bark or meow or come to the window. Listen closely in case the pet is trapped in a closet and look in windows for signs of life.“Do this several days in a row because some traumatized pets may be frightened, too frightened to respond at first. You may save a life!”


Foreclosures and an unstable economy have caused an increase in the abandonment of pets, and it can't be ignored even on a small scale, such as in your own neighborhood. Don't assume that a realtor will be by in a few days - it's often a month or more before that happens. Please, be aware of your surroundings! And check out this wonderful website to see how you can help.


Since I've got your attention, let me also say this - you'd have to be living under a rock to not know that the shelters and rescue groups are suffering. They are full to the brim. They are overflowing with cats and dogs. Foster homes are in short supply. Resources are low.


There's no shortage of sympathy for them, or for the animals. But sympathy doesn't pay the bills. Our inner voice says we should do something, but by the next morning we've forgotten. I've been guilty of this myself.


Please, if you are able, DONATE YOUR TIME, MONEY, OR SUPPLIES. It doesn't have to be hard or a hardship for you: (1) Write out a check for $10, look up the address of your local shelter, put on a stamp, and drop it in the mail. (2) If you have an hour here and there that you could drop by to walk a dog or pet a cat at a shelter, that counts. (3) Donations of pet beds/blankets/shampoos that you no longer need or use could be donated. (4) If there's a coupon in the Sunday fliers for a bag of dog or cat food, you could purchase that and drop it off, or even donate the coupon!


Don't forget the rescue groups. Every breed has a group looking out for it, and even though they most often get funding and donations, they still have very high expenses. I recently asked Heartland Golden Retriever Rescue Group to take a senior girl who was being neglected by a neighbor of mine. They took her within a week, spent probably upwards of $800 on her as she was heartworm positive and had to be boarded while being treated, and found her a home in about three months. But some dogs are in rescue for a year or more for one reason or another, including behavior and health problems. The dog may go into foster care, but the rescue group still covers their medical expenses. They never kill them or give up on them. If you have a favorite breed, just look it up on the internet and get an address to send whatever donation you can, no matter how small. Another need of rescue groups ... transport of an animal, either from a shelter to a rescue group, or a rescue group to a new forever home. I do this quite often as I can no longer foster, and I love it.


The message is simple, even though the situation is not. Be a good samaritan. Keep your eyes open. Give whatever you can whenever you can to whomever you can. But give. Of your time, of your money, of your heart. Look out for the animals ... and their keepers.


Oh, the dog pictured above. My sweet Charity. A rescue that was supposed to be a foster seven years ago. I was sent to pick her up from a shelter three hours from my home, and got there 30 minutes before the shelter closed at noon that Saturday. She was to be euthenized a few hours later.