POST #46: DOGGY ADDICTION

Frank has an addiction.  I know this is an addiction because he spends all of his time and energy trying to get to this substance.  He continues to seek it, despite experiencing negative consequences.  And it seems like he craves more and more.  Those are all signs of an addiction.

His addictive substance?

Frogs!

 

Frank spends all evening looking for them.  Unfortunately, this year happened to be exceptionally wet during the spring and early summer.  Which means that this is an exceptionally froggy year.

It started out innocently enough.  We had a couple of toads in our backyard in our little patio home on Balboa.  Frank pursued just one toad.  We were able to stop him from eating it, but Frank remembered the bitter taste, and he remembered the thrill of the hunt.

Yes, Frank is a thrill-seeker, too.

 

Most toads and frogs emit a toxic substance through their skin.  This is supposed to discourage predators from eating them.  Frank, on the other hand, seems to enjoy the taste, the bitterness, and tingly sensation in his mouth, and the way his saliva will start foaming out of his mouth.  He sees nothing wrong with shaking his head and slinging slobber all over the floor, himself, and anyone who happens to be standing nearby.  Slinging the foamy slobber onto his face and back allows him to actually wear the frog toxin.  Maybe this is some kind of badge of achievement among those dogs who are addicted to frogs.  Maybe it just serves to remind him of the fun and joy he’s had chasing down the frogs.

PD and Henry both went through a phase when they thought frogs were worthy prey.  But they both grew tired of the game, and they didn’t care for the after – effects of the foamy mouth.

Frank, however, just can’t seem to get enough.

 

This has been a year of rain, rather than drought.  And with so many years of drought behind us, the few surviving frogs in the area got busy making tadpoles.  I cannot take a single step into my yard without setting at least three frogs into motion.

And Frank wants to play with every one of them.  Frank is mostly addicted to the chase.  When he finds a frog, he will start by barking.  Most prey know that it is best to sit still, try to blend into the background, and hope the predator can’t see them.  So, when Frank starts barking, the frogs will freeze in place.

This is not what Frank wants!  He wants a chase.  So, he puts his nose, and sometimes his mouth, on the frog.  The frog jumps.  Frank is happy.  His tail wags.  And he barks again.  He wants more!  Frank keeps barking at the frog to keep it moving.  Every time the frog stops, Frank touches it to get it going again.  Sometimes, the poor frog gets really tired.  Frank has to get more aggressive, giving the frog a little nip.  This is usually when his mouth starts to foam, and the excitement grows.

 

Unfortunately, Frank will get too aggressive at times.  He’ll accidently kill the frog.  I don’t think Frank intends to do this.  I’m not real sure he understands what he’s done.  Frank will keep barking and lunging at the poor dead frog.  He just doesn’t understand why the frog has quit jumping.  His toy is broken, and he can’t get it to move again.

Eventually, Frank will give up and go inside. 

When possible, I will go outside and intervene in the frog’s (and neighbors’) behalf.  Sometimes, a simple command to “settle” will be enough.  But usually, I have to try to stand between Frank and the frog so that I can herd Frank back into the house.

The frog never seems to understand that I am on his side.  The result is that the three of us do this silly dance, going in circles.  Frank is trying to get to the frog.  The frog is trying to get away from both of us.  And I’m trying to figure out where the frog went so that I can get between the other two.  During this dance, I am also challenged with trying to not step on the frog.

I’m looking forward to cooler weather and fewer frogs.

Post # 45: Rabbits!

Wife has started raising a Spring/Summer garden in our backyard. She worried about the dogs getting into her garden the first year that she planted.  So I put a small fence around her little plot.

The vegetables grew and produced an abundance of produce.  But, it was difficult to step over the fence.  She worried about snakes. And she worried that everything was crowded.

The second year saw a larger garden plot with fewer plants and no fence.  This was also the year of the heavy rains and some flooding in May and June.  The garden didn’t do very well with that much water.

This was also the year that PD decided he liked squash plants.   Not the squash vegetable.  Just the plant itself, the stalk.  Over a period of a month, PD ripped out one plant after the other.  He would tug on the plant, pulling it out by its roots.  Then, PD would drag the plant out of the garden and settle down for a luscious meal of Squash Plant.

Wife and I had been worried about rabbits, not dogs.

It turns out that we were right to worry about rabbits, too.

Twice I had come home and spotted a rabbit in our back yard.  I quickly alerted Wife and had her seal off the back door.  Neither one of us wanted to watch our dogs tear up a rabbit.  We had chicken wire along the back fence to deep our dogs in the yard and other critters out.  Apparently the fence only worked on our dogs. 

I knew that the rabbit had figured out a way to breach the chicken wire.  But I also figured there would only be one or two ways in and out of that fence.  I was worried that in its panic to get away from the dogs, the rabbit would get trapped and we’d have a slaughter.

In each instance I was able to go into the back yard without the dogs, and herd the rabbit back to whatever hole it had dug or chewed to get in.

One evening, Wife and I were sitting on the porch enjoying our freshly mowed lawn.  Frank started barking at something I couldn’t see.  Wife had a better view and told me it was a rabbit.

I walked over and started “shushing” Frank.

It was just a poor baby rabbit.  The little guy was all hunkered down, trying to be still.  Despite his best effort at looking like a rock, he was trembling. 

I was able to pick up Frank.  We called PD, who obediently followed us into the house.  We closed off the dogs and I went back outside.

The bunny had hopped over to the brick border around a tree.  He sat there with his face to the wall.  I guess he thought he was hiding.  Wife was watching from the window.  He was so small.  She said that he just kind of fell over onto his side on uneven ground.

We just knew that his momma had to be nearby somewhere.  So we kept the doggy door shut and waited a couple of hours.

Two hours later, and he was still in our back yard.  Still in danger.

I scooped him up, carried him to the fence and put him gently on the other side.  That should take care him, right?

That evening just before bed time, we let the dogs out to take care of business.  And they did.  And for Frank, taking care of business included discovering that the bunny had come back into our yard.

Frank started his barking at the bunny.  He was a little afraid of it, since he had no idea what this critter was.  I walked over to get Frank but he kept avoiding me.  Then, the bunny turned around and lunged at Frank.  This little tiny thing decided he was tired of Frank’s noise.  So he lunged, not just hopped, but an aggressive lunge.  Frank backed off and into my waiting hands.

We left the little rabbit alone in the yard and locked the dogs inside for the night.  Surely, by morning the rabbit’s momma will have found him and escorted him home.

The next morning, I did a quick walk around the backyard, looking for the little rabbit.  I saw nothing, so we let the dogs out of the house.  It wasn’t long before we heard Frank barking.  What I couldn’t see, Frank managed to sniff out.  That little bunny was still in the back yard.

Back in the house went the dogs.  I scooped up the little fella and placed him in a small cage.  Then I went back into the house and got on the computer to do a bit of research.  My granddaughter had raised a rabbit for 4-H just a few months ago.  I was wondering if this rabbit might be turned into a pet for her.

Or maybe I could find a shelter for the rabbit.  It was plain this baby’s momma just didn’t care.  And he didn’t seem to be very bright.  I learned that baby rabbits’ nests often loo

k like the piles of grass we had all over our yard after mowing.  So maybe he just got turned around.

I also learned that it is very hard for a young bunny to survive as pets.  They are much more hardy than you expect, and usually do quite well on their own.  Better, in fact than they do when people try to make them pets.

So, I pulled out my folding ladder and climbed over into our neighbor’s property with the cage.  I walked a bit into their property, and behind some brush and released the rabbit back into the wild.

We’ve not seen any rabbits since then.  I don’t know whether he survived, if he found his nest or his momma.  But in Wife’s imagination, he made it back home safely and is still out there in the brush romping around with his brothers, sisters, momma, and daddy.

Of course, Wife isn’t really all that naïve.  She pointed out to me that her google search revealed that rabbits are food for everything else.  “Why do they have to make them so cute?” she asks. 

Maybe rabbits could look a little more like possums?

Post #42: PD’s Criminal Record

PD had a difficult time accepting Frank into our home.  He became very possessive of me.  With Henry, PD was willing to share my lap and willing to share our bed. 

Frank was a lively, friendly dog, but he was not totally welcomed by PD.  PD would stare him down if Frank looked like he wanted to get on the couch with us.  He growled at Frank if he thought he was getting too close to my lap.  Early on, we were able to get both dogs on our laps without much of a problem.

But things began to change.  PD became more aggressive.  When Frank wandered too close to my lap, PD would snap at him.  We had a couple of loud scuffles on the love seat where Wife and I sat to watch television.

Food had become another issue between the two of them.  And part of this aggression, we believe, was due to PD’s having been put on steroids.  It wasn’t too long after PD recovered from his pancreatitis that we figured out he really was having back pain, and he was put on steroids for a while to help with that.

One evening, about three months after Wife and I had brought Frank into our home, PD taught me an important lesson.

Frank had beat PD to my lap and had settled in.  PD came up the ramp and demanded that Frank get off.  He began barking and started to lunge at Frank.  I instinctively put my hand out to block PD’s attack.  PD clamped down on one of my fingers.  I grabbed his jaw (with my finger still in his mouth), flipped him over on his back and did my “aggressive” act to let PD know that his behavior was not acceptable.

When he was looking calmer I withdrew my hand and found a couple of puncture wounds in my finger.

Things got better with PD after that, but we still watch their proximity when I am around.  The two can be best buddies as long as I am not close. 

My First Lesson?  I’ve learned not to stick my hand in front of a growling, barking dog.

DUH!

A couple of days after the biting incident, one of the puncture wounds was turning red.  I was in Victoria at the time and decided to have it checked out by a doctor.  I went to a walk-in clinic, got some antibiotics, and was told I had to wait until the Animal Control folk came out to interview me.

What?

Animal Control showed up and asked me some questions.  Then, they informed me that if PD had been in Victoria they would have required that he be taken to the pound and quarantined and observed for three days. 

They labeled him as an aggressive dog.

Since PD lived in Aransas Pass, they sent a notice to the Aransas Pass Animal Control (APAC), and it would be up to APAC to decide what to do with him.  Thank goodness they didn’t file extradition papers on PD.

A day later, the APAC knocked on our door in Aransas Pass.  Wife opened the door and PD and Frank ran out onto the porch to greet the Animal Control Officer.  Thank goodness PD wasn’t in one of his barky moods.  The officer saw the wagging tails and experienced PD’s submissive peeing (did he get her on the foot?  I think not) when she bent over to pat PD on the top of the head.

She said she could tell that PD was not an aggressive dog.  And she understood that bite was due to circumstances, after Wife explained what happened.

But, she also warned us that the dog bite is now “on his record.”  Another bite could result in his being put down because he is an aggressive dog.

The Second Lesson I’ve learned is that my family pets are just two bites away (well, PD is only one bite away) from being taken from me.

I realized that PD was aggressive around Frank, and he didn’t really like kids, but I never thought of him as a danger to the public at large.  But now he has a record.  He has one strike against him in a two strikes and you’re out system.

In my work, I do risk assessment on offenders.  How likely are they to “recidivate” or commit the same crime again?  I began to wonder if there were any assessment instruments or psychological tests out there that I could administer to PD.  Maybe I can do an assessment and show that he isn’t really a high risk dog.  He has to register every year, but that’s just for rabies.  

At least they don’t have his mug shot in a book down at the dog pound.

Post #41: PD’s Third Miracle

PD’s third encounter with near death was also his closest call.  PD was eight years old.  Wife and I were trying to live in two places in two cities.  I had closed my private practice in Rockport and began a full-time position as faculty at the University of Houston – Victoria.  I would stay in Victoria for three or four days a week, and then would stay in Aransas Pass for three or four days.

PD began acting strangely on one Sunday in Aransas Pass.  He was depressed, not moving much, and looked like he was in pain.  This was too soon after Henry went down, and we were still very much worried about dachshund back injuries.  Our first thought was that PD had hurt his back.  Our regular vet was closed and not available. 

I drove PD to the veterinary hospital in Corpus Christi.  I expressed my concerns about PD’s back to the person who did the intake.  The tech took X-rays, the vet looked at them and said she could see some places where he had inflammation of his disc.  She gave PD a shot for his pain.  PD and I left the hospital with a bottle of pain medication, advice to keep him in a crate, and instructions on when to give him his medicine. 

I was supposed to be in Victoria on Monday, and Wife and the dogs were coming with me.  So, we crated PD, packed our things, and headed north.

PD did not get better.  PD continued to be lethargic.  He threw up a couple of times.  He refused to eat.  That was a really big thing.  PD has always been food motivated.  So, any time he refuses to eat, we know something is really wrong.  He also refused to drink.

Wife forced his pain medicine down him, and he threw it right back up.  We decided not to force him to take it again.  By late evening, PD had not had anything to drink.  I took him to his water dish, but he just looked at it.  Then I put some water on my finger and rubbed it around his lips.  That triggered a gagging reflex.  PD was warm and seemed to have a fever.  It was late Sunday evening, and we had no vet resources in Victoria.  We decided to wait it out, and hope that PD would be better in the morning.

He wasn’t.                                                                                                                     

Wife was headed to Temple to spend some time with our grandchildren, but we both knew we needed to get PD back to our vet in Rockport.  

I put PD in the car and drove south to Rockport, while Wife headed north to Temple.  Both of us with prayers for the safety of the other, and for PD to get well.

The vet examined PD and ran some blood tests.  He told me to leave PD with him so they could start him on an IV and get some fluids in him.  He was dehydrated and in pain.  The vet wanted to wait for the lab results and check some other things.  I left and went back to Victoria without PD.  When the vet called, the news was bad.

PD had pancreatitis.  His body was digesting itself.  His liver had shut down.  His kidneys had shut down.  The vet wasn’t sure that PD would live.  He told us that on paper, PD was already a dead dog.

The vet withheld all food and water.  Any food or water consumed by mouth would trigger an enzyme action against his organs.  This is why PD was vomiting and gagged when I forced him to put water in his mouth.  This enzyme action was the means in which his body was digesting itself.  Any fluids or nutrition that PD got would have to be through his IV.

PD stayed at the vet’s for several days.  We spoke to the vet every day.  At first we got encouraging news.  He seemed to be getting better.  But then, PD seemed to be getting worse.  The vet asked us to come and talk to him about taking PD home.  The vet didn’t think that there was anything else he could do for PD.

Wife and I drove to Rockport, to the vet’s office.  We went into the examination room and waited while the vet told us about what he had done for PD.  He told us that PD wasn’t “out of the woods, yet.”

The tech walked in carrying PD.  He saw us and began to wag his tail.  The tech put him on the examining table, and PD was all over us with kisses and tail wags.

The vet smiled and said that was the best he had seen PD act since he had arrived.  He knew that he had done the right thing to get us to come and get him.

PD is now on a low-fat diet, and has not had any further problems with his pancreas.  He is 11 years old now, and is losing some of his eye sight.  He is often in pain because of his back, but Wife does a great job of managing his pain.

As he gets older, he accumulates symptoms that slow us all down.  We do not know how many more years we will have with PD.  We are simply grateful for all of the years that we have had.  We count each day that PD is with us as one more blessing.

Post #35: Frank

After losing Henry, we had decided to be a one-dog family.  That discussion did not last long.  PD became just as demanding of our time and attention as he had been before Henry.  I began looking at dachshund rescues online, and soon had Kathy looking at them, too.  I started showing cute, adorable dachshund puppies to Kathy.  She insisted that we not jump into a second dog.  I sort of agreed and quit pulling up pictures of dogs that needed homes.

During this time, I had been teaching in Victoria for about a year.  We had bought a small house in Victoria, and I continued to commute from Aransas Pass.  I spent a few days a week in Victoria, and a few days a week in Aransas Pass.

I tried to be strong, honest!  I could see that getting a second dog would be more of a burden for Kathy, than me.  If Kathy didn’t want another dog, we would just deal with PD’s demanding ways.

The funny thing is, I had kind of stopped looking online for rescue dogs.  So it came as a real surprise when Kathy emailed me a link to a dachshund that was in Victoria’s Adopt-A-Pet rescue center.  I was in Victoria at the time.  Kathy had actually asked me to look at the picture of a young dachshund in need of a home!  And he was nearby.

He was a beautiful, but sad looking guy.  This was the first time I had ever seen a Piebald Dachshund.  I’d heard about dapples, double dapples, and brindles.  But, I’d never heard of a Piebald.  This little guy was a miniature dachshund who was supposed to be about two years old.  He was brown and white.  Or is that red and white?  His whole head was brown.  The rest of him was white with large patches of brown.  His head looked over-sized, because the rest of his body was so small.  The shelter said that a man had found this dog wandering the streets.  It was obvious that he had been on his own for a while.  He was so malnourished.  The shelter had him for only a couple of weeks, and he had managed to put a little bit of weight back on.  But he still had a long way to go.

His eyes looked so sad.  You could tell he was lost and confused and needed a new home.  No wonder Kathy sent me the link.

I went to the shelter to see this dog.  The shelter workers were very kind and seemed to really care about the dogs.  But they were crowded.  The dog I had gone to see was in a wire cage stacked on top of two other cages with dogs.  The room was filled with loud barking.

The worker introduced me to “Frank.”  We got to go into the staff break room, where things were quieter.  I sat on the floor, and they placed Frank on the floor nearby.  I ignored him for a while, talking to the staff, to give Frank a chance to adjust to my presence.  He walked around the room a bit, and eventually became interested in me.

Frank sniffed me, and then climbed into my lap.  He was a very polite and respectful gentleman.  I fell in love with Frank right away.  But the decision was not just mine.  I had an out of town appointment that would take me away for a day.  I decided to use that as my cooling off period.

I called Kathy and gave her my impression of Frank.  We both agreed to think about adopting him over night.  I took care of my work and headed back home the next day.  Kathy and I talked some more about Frank.

We decided to bring him home!

I stopped at the Adopt-A-Pet center and completed the paperwork, paid the fees, and took possession of Frank.

“Why did you name him Frank?” I asked after the third time they told me I could change his name.  The worker looked a little sheepish as he explained “because he’s a wiener dog, and he looked like …”

“A frankfurter” I completed.  Well I’m not happy with the origins of his name, but after owning a Henry, Frank just seemed right.

Post #31: Henry Houdini

Henry healed remarkably well after his back surgery.  Henry was eventually back to his old self.  He still had speed … he was catching birds.  And he had stealth.

The thing about a black dachshund is that they can be very hard to see sometimes.  It is really tough to get a good photo of a black and tan dachshund because that shiny black fur soaks up all the available light.  Every picture of Henry that I’ve posted on this blog had to be adjusted for exposure and shadows first, or you would never have really been able to see Henry.

 

We often referred to Henry as our stealth dog because he could sometimes just disappear.  He would be in the same room, and we wouldn’t know until he was ready for us to see him.  It was impossible to see Henry at night.

 

Another nick-name for Henry was “Henry – Houdini.”  I’ve already told you how he could figure out ways to get into the mulberries despite my best efforts.  Henry could also figure out ways to get out of things he didn’t want to be in.  We would often be surprised to find Henry in rooms or other spaces that we thought we had adequately blocked off.

Our granddaughters had come for a visit one weekend, and we enjoyed taking them to the waterfront and doing other grand-parenting types of things.  We fed them a nice meal and then Wife started putting the girls to bed.  For some reason, I had not yet eaten, so I started on my meal which included among other great foods, a baked potato.  At some point, Wife asked me to come up to help with the girls.  I was only gone for a minute or two.  But when I got back downstairs, I found Henry sitting at my seat, looking up at me innocently.  I knew I hadn't really been gone long enough for him to eat my food.  He knew he wasn't allowed to eat people food.  So, I stood there and stared at Henry, and he stared back.  "Nothing wrong here, Dad!  Just watching your plate for you so the flies don't get on it."  I picked up Henry and set him on the floor.  Then I looked carefully at my plate.  I couldn't see any bites taken out of the food.  A closer inspection, however, revealed that the top of my baked potato was really, really flat.  No, Henry hadn't taken a bite, he just licked it down some.  If I hadn't caught him in my seat, I probably would have never known ...

Henry learned how to duck his head and slip out of his collar.  If he wanted to go somewhere while we were on a walk, Henry would turn toward me and dig in his heels.  I’d give the leash a “come on” tug to encourage him to follow me, and then he’d be free.  I’d be left holding an empty collar while Henry was off exploring on his own. 

We started making Henry wear a harness, rather than a simple collar.  I figured that it would be impossible for Henry to escape from his harness.  We’d have his front legs encircled by the harness.  This method actually worked … for a little while.

 

 

Henry soon had mastered the art of escaping from a harness.  I’m still not sure how he got out.  A head duck, a paw lift, and then another paw lift all in rapid succession and he was free.  And Henry’s timing had to be perfect.  I had learned not to give a steady pull on the leash.  Giving any kind of tension was always an invitation to escape.  So, rather than a steady pull (come on Henry), I’d try a quick little tug, and BOOM! He was gone.  I’d try not to tug at all, and Henry still managed to find enough tension in the line to make his escape.

I usually took Henry on walks when we travelled.  We would pull into an RV park, set up the trailer, and then go for a walk.  And then I’d have to go find Henry.

The worst times were when he got lose during a nighttime walk.  Even with a flashlight, he was almost impossible to see.  Henry could just disappear into the blackness.  I’d only be able to track Henry by listening to the jingle of his dog tags.  I'd listen, then follow the sound and stop to listen some more.  Finally, I'd shine my light, and where all had been blackness before would be a pair of brown eyes staring back at me.

I'd scoop up the animal, just hoping it was Henry, not really being sure until I got him under a street light.  Then Henry would get a free ride home, back to our trailer.  I wasn't about to let Henry try another Houdini escape again.

At least not for that night.

Post #30: Living off the Land

Henry was always good about supplementing his diet.  It seemed as though Henry figured out a new supplemental plan for every season. 

During the Summer, Henry would feast on Locusts.  He learned how to sniff them out while they were still under the ground.  Then he would dig them up and have a little snack.  I think his favorite locusts, though were those that made the mistake of stopping too close to the ground to shed their outer shell.  You know, they say texture really enhances one’s dining pleasure.  I think Henry enjoyed the extra “crunch” of biting into the locust’s crispy outer shell.

In the Fall and Winter, Henry would eat the acorns that fell from our giant live oak trees.  The trees were huge, ancient, and their canopies pretty much covered our entire back yard.  I’ve learned that the acorns from a live oak tree are bitter.  One taste was all it took to convince me to leave the acorns to the squirrels.  Henry, however, seemed to like them.  Maybe I would have enjoyed the flavor more if I had eaten the shell along with the bitter nut.

 

One Fall afternoon Wife took Henry to the vet for a routine checkup.  They had a new vet in the clinic who was not familiar with us or with Henry.  She chided Wife for letting him get overweight.  He was only one or two pounds over his ideal weight, and was by no means obese.  Wife told her that we didn’t know where he had gained the extra weight.  The mulberries were no longer in season.  It might be the acorns.  No, we never fed him table scraps.  Yes, we were giving him the recommended amount of dog food.  The vet didn’t believe Wife, but let it drop.

I got home from work the same time Wife got home from the vet.  As we walked Henry from Wife’s car to the gate we talked about what the vet had said.  I thought it was probably the bumper crop of acorns that our trees had produced.  Wife wasn’t so sure.

We got to the gate.  I bent over and unleashed Henry as Wife opened the backyard gate.  Henry took off like a streak of black lightening.  Before I could even stand upright to see what was happening, Henry was on the far side of the backyard, munching down on the bird he had just caught.

Wife and I looked at each other and laughed.  Now we knew how he was gaining weight.  Apparently the first two bird catches were not just a lucky accident.

Henry’s favorite time of the year for snack food was the Spring.  Our neighbor had a mulberry tree that hung large branches over our backyard.  The tree’s limbs would be heavy with ripe mulberries.  The berries would drop into our backyard by the truckload.  Both PD and Henry would feast on the berries.  But Henry was the one who would gain weight.  Wife referred to him as having “porked out” on the berries.  We discussed whether eating mulberries would be a problem for our dog’s weight.  Our vet assured us that dogs couldn’t get fat on eating mulberries.  I believed that the vet was wrong!

We were especially worried about Henry’s weight because of his back.  We knew that even a few ounces on a small dog put excessive weight on the long back.

I decided that I needed to fence Henry out to keep him from eating too many mulberries.  I started off just using assorted lumber and cinder blocks that we had around the house.  I fenced off that portion of the yard where most of the mulberries fell.  I didn’t fence off the entire area, since I felt like a few mulberries would be OK for him.  I just fenced off the area where the biggest piles lay.

Wife and I couldn’t see the area I had blocked off from the kitchen, since there was a small shed in backyard that blocked our view.  I went outside later in the afternoon to see how things were going with my fence.  Henry had managed to knockdown some of the boards and got in.

I chased him out, added a few more boards and some more bricks.

Those got knocked over, too.

Sigh!  Time to get serious.  So, my next stop was the local Tractor Supply store to see what they might have in the way of inexpensive and temporary fencing.

I found three foot high green wire fencing and fencing stakes.  I bought what I thought I would need and brought it all home.

I pounded in the stakes.  The wooden fence separating us from our neighbor made one side, and our little shed made a second side.  So I ran stakes from the fence to the shed on two sides.  Then I stretched the wire fencing from one stake to the next until my mulberries were secure.

The next day I came home from work and I found Henry calmly eating mulberries under the tree inside the fence.  He had figured out how to squeeze between the wooden back yard fence and the first metal stake.  I wasn’t sure that he could get back out, though.  Since the days were getting warmer, I was concerned with Henry having access to water.

I spent the rest of the afternoon securing all of the gaps that I could find.  I left for work the next day certain that there would be no more holes for Henry to squeeze through.

That evening I saw the same familiar site.  Henry grazing on fallen mulberries inside the fence.  I searched the fence for gaps or knocked down stakes.  There were none.  What I found, however, was a nice hole dug under the fence. 

So far Henry had shown me that he could go over the fence, through the fence, and under the fence.

Henry won!

The fence came down.  I decided to trust the vet and quit worrying about mulberries.

Post #28 Fearful Henry

I started a game of fetch with PD before Henry came into our family.  We played with a Rubber Chicken, rather than a ball or stick.  I’d throw “Chicken” and PD would run after it and bring it back.  … Or not.  

Sometimes, PD thought it was only fair to sit and wait for me to walk over to him, and then throw Chicken back across to where we started.  I was never sure which rules we were going to play by, but PD always knew.  The fun part of “Chicken” was that we could play in the house, or we could go outside and play in the yard.  We could even play in our travel trailer, if we happened to be going somewhere.

The first time Henry saw me throw Chicken was the first time I began to wonder if Henry had been hit in his previous home.  Henry cowed and walked as far away from me as he could when I raised my arm to throw Chicken.  This little game that brought so much joy to PD instilled fear and dread in Henry.  We learned of other things that scared Henry as well.

Smoke was another fear that Henry had.  The first time we started a backyard barbecue, Henry ran into the house and hid under the covers on the couch.  We took the dogs with us when we went camping.  Our normal routine was to walk the dogs around the park several times a day.  I learned that I had to steer clear of campfires and barbecues.  Henry would cower, shiver, or just stop and refuse to move once he caught the scent of smoke.  This fear lasted for several years.  We eventually were able to get Henry used to the campfire smoke.  Henry was able to walk past other campers grilling hamburgers or just burning wood without a problem.

Cats. 

Oh, Henry would act brave when he smelled and then spotted a cat.  He would bark his deepest manliest bark at the cat.  His hair would raise up in a ridge down his back, and then he would charge.  All would go as planned as long as the cat retreated from his back yard.  Or, in the case where I was walking the dogs, as long as I was able to firmly grasp the leash in my hand. 

The first time was late one evening, and I was standing in the front yard, waiting for PD and Henry to take care of their business.  Before the first instance of getting free from my leash, I did my best to protect the local cats from Henry.

Henry and PD both noticed the cat, and Henry started his deep ferocious barking routine.  Then he rushed the cat, and caught me off guard.  Henry managed to pull the leash out of my hand.

Henry raced across the street barking loudly and viciously in hot pursuit of the cat.  The cat retreated to a row of bushes by the neighbor’s house, and then turned.  The cat decided he did not want to run anymore.  He arched his back, puffed out his fur and hissed, swiping his paw at Henry.

Henry’s deep ferocious bark turned into a high pitched girly squeal as he turned around and raced back to the safety of his own yard.  He yelped and squealed all the way home, managing to run even faster in retreat than he did for the attack.  Henry really was a brave dog when possums and skunks were involved.  But cats?  Not so much.

I did my best to protect Henry from cats after that.

Post #27: Skunked!

I was in the kitchen late one evening, putting some things away when Henry streaked through the room like his tail was on fire.

Our house is arranged such that one can stand on the back porch and look out into the back yard.  Coming in from the porch, you would enter the back door into a mud room, which in turn opens into the kitchen. 

On the other side of the kitchen is a doorway that opens into the dining room, and another door that opens onto the stairwell and hallway.  The dining room is between the Study, on the left, and the living room on the right.  From the living room you can go back down the aforementioned hallway and turn either right back into the kitchen, or left into the master suite, complete with a bedroom, bathroom, dressing area, and walk-in closet.

Henry visited every one of these rooms during this particular journey through our house.  And he managed this tour in less than a minute on this summer evening.  Henry not only visited these rooms, but he managed to jump on every sofa, loveseat and chair that these rooms contained.

I had heard some barking earlier, followed by a high pitched squeal just moments before I saw the black streak flash through the kitchen.  I had time to turn and watch Henry leave the dining room and enter the study before I got slammed.

It hit me like a wall of odor.  Henry had just been skunked!  And it was powerful.  It felt like a physical force pressing me back against the kitchen cabinet.

“Stop him! Stop him!” I screamed at Wife.  Of course she had no idea why I was yelling, or what I was yelling about.

Henry had jumped up onto the love seat where Wife and I spent most of our time in the evening, watching television.  He rolled on his back and did his best to wipe the skunk off of him.

By the time the odor wall hit Wife, he had already rocketed into the living room.  He jumped onto one chair, then the next, and then the couch, desperately trying to find something that would get the smell off of him.

Wife and I were in hot pursuit.  Yelling at Henry, yelling at each other, not sure we really wanted to pick up this skunky dog.  We just wanted the smell to go away.  We wanted to turn back the clock for five minutes, and call Henry inside.  We wanted Henry to go out onto the porch.  We didn’t want Henry spreading his scent all over the house.

We were just two steps behind him when he headed for the bedroom.  He rolled on the rug, then headed back for our walk – in closet!  The good news?  This is where we were at last able to corner Henry.  The bad news?  This is where all of our clothes were hanging!

I carried Henry out onto the front porch, and closed him off from the rest of the house.  Then we opened the door, ran the air conditioner, turned on ceiling fans and exhaust fans, and opened any windows that weren’t painted shut.

 

It was already 11:00 when Henry first blew through the house.  We really didn’t want to stay up washing the dog, but we also didn’t want to leave poor Henry out on the front porch all night.  So, I hit the computer looking for a magic anti-skunk solution.  The word on the internet was that tomato sauce and ketchup don’t really work.  The magic formula I found involved hydrogen peroxide (quart), Baking Soda (1/4 cup), and 1 – 2 teaspoons of liquid soap.  Mix, rub on stinky dog, wait 15 minutes, rinse, repeat.

We had hydrogen peroxide, but not a quart of it.  So our first task was to run to the local grocery store which, thankfully, was open all night.

We washed poor Henry three times, and he still smelled like skunk.

The next morning we put our skunky dog in the bathtub and washed him with a dog shampoo we’d had for years.  He smelled much better.  The skunk smell was still faintly on him, but there was a great improvement.

The next time Henry met the tail end of a skunk, yes, there was a next time … we went straight to the dog shampoo.  It only took two applications, and it worked much better than the secret formula given above.

Henry didn’t learn to stay away from skunks.  But we learned how to deal with him when he forgot his lesson.

Oh, our clothes?  Wife and I smelled a little skunky for about six months, but the smell eventually left.  It was always interesting reaching in and pulling something out we hadn’t worn in a while.  Memories of that warm summer evening returned, along with the faint odor of skunk.

 

 

Post #22: Survivors

One of the professional organizations I belong to was having its annual conference in Chicago.  Wife and I decided that this would make for a good vacation trip.  We could go by way of Iowa and visit my mother and sister along the way.

My mom had undergone some emergency surgery about six months earlier and was still recovering.  She had suffered from pancreatitis and a bowel blockage.  As a result she now was sporting an ostomy bag.  Mom seemed to be taking this in stride, although I think she felt like she smelled, and she really didn’t like the mess.

We packed up our Fifth-Wheel travel trailer and headed north.  The conference was being held the in the middle of October.  Since we live in Deep South Texas, all of our RV parks are open all year long.  The cold weather never lasts very long, and is something we never give any thought too.  I was surprised to learn that the reservations we made in Chicago were for the last week the park would be open until spring. 

We planned to stay a couple of days in Iowa for our visit.  We were surprised when the park owner kept asking us if we would be unhooking our trailer.  It sounded like she really didn’t want us to stay.  We assured her we would be unhooking, that we would be staying two nights, and that we might actually drive into town in our tow vehicle.  She relented and assigned us a spot.

My mother, sister and two nieces made the drive out to visit us at the park.  I enjoyed the time I was able to spend with my family.  Henry made himself the darling of the family.  He got along with everyone.  Henry made a special effort to make my mom feel good.  He curled up by her side and let her know that he loved her and thought she was special.  Mom was surprised by the affection and acceptance Henry gave her.  She was expecting to be avoided by the dogs because of her ostomy bag.

We left Iowa and moved into our RV space just outside of Chicago.  This was a nice, quiet park, with close access to the trains that would be taking me into town and to my conference.

Our normal routine when we camp is to take our dogs out several times a day to walk around the RV Park.  Everyone gets a little exercise.  We get to see what other RV’s look like.  And the dogs have a chance to become familiar with their new, but temporary, surroundings.  Oh, and the walks help ensure that no one makes a mess on the floor of the trailer.

One of the things we grabbed when Wife’s father sold his grocery store was a roll of produce bags.  These bags make great “swear-prevention bags.”  We stuff a couple into our pockets whenever we go for walks and are ready to scoop up our dog’s deposits.  Keeping the pathways clean helps keep the language in the park clean.  When people don’t unknowingly step in the deposits, they don’t have to start saying nasty words.  Just our little contribution to society.

One evening, PD started throwing up after our walk.  He did this several times, and kept vomiting until nothing was coming up.  We knew something was seriously wrong with PD.  Here we were 1300 miles from our vet, it was after 7:00 p.m., and PD was sick.  We had Wi-Fi internet at the park and I was able to do a search for nearby vets, wondering if there was any way we could talk a vet into seeing us after hours.

I found a vet nearby.  Not only was the vet close to us, but it was a vet that was only open from 6:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m.  This was a true blessing!

We rushed PD to the clinic and the vet checked out PD.  She took him back and too X-Rays.  The vet complimented PD for being so compliant.  She told us that she placed him on his back and he lay perfectly still.  We didn’t tell her that he was waiting for his tummy rub.

The X-Ray showed no blockage and nothing unusual in his stomach or intestines.  She could see nothing that might be hurting him.  The vet gave PD a shot to stop the nausea and sent us home.

PD was lethargic.  Otherwise, he was OK that night.  The shot wore off in the morning and PD vomited again.  This time he threw up a peach pit!

We called the vet and she explained that the pit would not have shown up on the X-Ray because it had the same density as PD’s soft tissue.  The pit could have traveled deeper into his digestive tract, producing pain and requiring surgery, assuming we would have got him back to the vet on time.  The pit could have killed him.

I figure, this was PD’s third miracle.  Another opportunity for death to claim this little guy, and death missed him again!  His vomiting and bloody stool as a too-young puppy, his survival from eating a Sago Palm seed, and now the peach pit.

Since this event, Wife and I have often thought how stopping the vomiting was probably the wrong treatment.  PD’s ability to regurgitate his stomach’s contents once again saved him.