Chris, our wonderful HOA manager, put out an email about dog rules. Yay!!
As I was pulling into the alley that goes to my garage today, a woman walking her dog stopped at a fire hydrant on my neighbor’s lawn.
I said, “Do you live in this house (I knew she didn’t,) and when she answered no, I told her that there is no dog peeing allowed on private property in this neighborhood, in fact, there are signs all over that say this, as well as keeping dogs leashed.
This woman, educated, I’m sure, replied that since there was a fire hydrant on the lawn, it was city property. No, the city has an easement to put the hydrant there.
Dogs off leash fry my brain cells. There is a couple with two Cavalier King Charles spaniels, beautiful and friendly dogs, that the gentleman insists that one can stay off leash. We live next to a huge natural area, a prairie that has never been disturbed. A hawk, eagle or owl looking for a meal, could swoop up one of these little dogs for a tasty treat, leaving these people grieving.
I’ve written several emails to the HOA, who send out email blasts about the littlest things. I’ve been ignored.
I had a yellow lawn, and put two signs up. There are still yellow spots in the grass. Oh well, ignore the rules and common sense.
I remember when Ivy was an 8# pup. On the first morning I had her, we went out at dawn for a walk (puppies get up early.) I heard an owl. As we walked along, it hooted again. I turned back and looked, and it was on my next-door neighbor’s roof. I clutched. Fortunately, the great horned owl flew off to the south. Ivy was safe. At least with a leash, I could have pulled her away.
Pet rules are important. They are not to be ignored.
One way to get Ivy to leave me and a guest alone is to say those words. Ivy’s favorite chew toys are Bully Sticks. I would never do rawhide again, as one of my huskies, Keli, nearly choked to death.
Bully sticks practically dissolve when chewed, they taste good to the dog, and they keep them busy when I am trying to unsolved the mysteries of “The Cloud”
I’ve been training Ivy to get on the bed in a way that will be OK when she’s certified as a therapy dog.
She sleeps in her crate, but awakens around 6am. I put her out, and go back to sleep until she barks, once, to come in. Then it’s time for training to be on the bed. Instead of just leaping up, she has to sit, wait for me to get back to bed, and the command, “up!” She is very dainty, goes to the foot of the bed. I say “head down” and she does it.
So, I got up to use the bathroom with Ivy at the foot of the bed. I turned around after washing my hands, and wouldn’t you know, she’s up against the pillows. She did the same thing on the couch. Silent as a mouse.
She’s going to be a great therapy dog because “doodles make you smile every day.”
You make bath time lots of fun. Rubber ducky, I’m awfully fond of you, do, do, do, do, do!
The great joy while waiting to see if the publisher of my choice will accept my book, before I start searching for another, is that for work, I have only to keep up my social media writing such as this blog entry.
I can read, and highly recommend the last two books I have been reading: Tell Me That This Never Happened by Jenny Lawson-a laugh out loud book that takes a few chapters, well about a quarter of the book really, before you find out it’s wicked funny. Before I start her next book, I am reading Senator Al Franken’s book: Al Franken, Giant of the Senate. This book is funny also, because Franken was a comedian for so long, that he can’t help but see some of the senate idiocy from a humorous point of view. It’s pretty up to date with regard to what’s going on in DC.
I also cherish my time with Ivy. We went to the dog park this morning, and a boxer attacked her. The boxer, a service dog for her human’s mother, serves as a “balance dog” for the mom’s MS. The dogs worked it out, and more doodles arrived, so it was a doodle Woodstock with a boxer thrown in the mix.
I had left a message for my groomer, April, whose shop is closed Mondays. I got a call back from Heather, Frank’s stylist, and she says she does doodles as well. I guess there’s quite a bit of knowledge to have to properly style a doodle. Ivy already has an appointment for the day of her Canine Good Citizen test, but I wanted another one. I can give her a shower, but doing her coat is another thing. She is rather like a giant mat right now with two eyes, a nose, and a smiling mouth. Heather said she could take Ivy next Monday, the third of July, when the shop, Spa 4 Paws, is usually closed. She didn’t want to get behind because of the 4th, and she would be there Monday. We will come up with some sort of plan to style Ivy. Too short, and she’s too poodly. Too long, and she is a giant mass of matted hair. She looks like a fat sheep, but if you hold her hair in on her sides, you get half a sheep in appearance.
Ivy has gotten used to the choke chain, although she nearly killed me today running me to the door of my friends’ house.
Because she did such a crappy job during CGC class last Tuesday at Home Depot, even though she was perfect two days earlier, I pondered taking her to drop-in obedience this evening. Then, I decided to save a few bucks and just go back to Home Depot. It was cooler there, anyway, and we are expecting mid-90’s tomorrow.
Anytime I take my dog where only people should be, I ask permission. Even though all of Canine Learning Center classes use Home Depot for “off campus” practice, I still ask. The checker I asked was a wild woman with bright eyes, and clearly a person happy with her job and the people she helps. I asked her if she would like to pet Ivy while I held her collar. The woman went nuts on me and told Ivy, “You go crazy, girlfriend, be wild, have fun.” Ivy laughed her head off as she did what she was told. Yes, dogs laugh-hard. They also can text, “LOL,” but that’s for another time.
Ivy and I practiced healing and shopping, stays, turns, the whole megillah. I found that in a mostly empty store with long aisles, I could put Ivy on a stay, sit or down, walk well away, and wait. She was perfect, and when finally called, did her usual jump in the air, run to me at top speed, and jump to a sit. Then she “finishes” when told, which means going behind my back to return to heel position sitting down for a nice treat.
It was still early to go home, so I called Diane from the car (all handless) and said Ivy had a present for Logan, the little Yorkie who needed re-homing due to a move up in the mountains where he would have been a great meal for a roving eagle. The toy, a fuzzy yellow duck that quacks when bitten, was a great hit with Logan and Ivy. Sol, Diane and Darell’s little poodle, not so much. Sol, pronounced “Soul,” has taken possession of Logan, and just watched.
Ivy also had fun running in the yard. We do not have a back yard, so she ran like a little maniac on the grass, diving into its fragrant softness. I spied a circular sprinkler on the lawn, and asked Diane if she would turn it on. OMG! My doodle went nuts! She ran circles around it, getting wet, drank from it, and spent a long time getting soaked. I doubt the grass got watered at all. The three of us humans drank iced tea and watched all three dogs doing maniacal canine deeds. I think Ivy took the prize for “the dog that will never be allowed inside Diane’s house again.” At this time, she is still outside. We left for home via a gate out of the yard instead of going through the house. That dog was dripping wet. All that hair I was worried about had disappeared into droplets of sopping curls. I put her directly outside, where she fell asleep in the delightful summer evening. She just now barked, once, so I went down to put her to bed. Her hair is mostly dry, so I’ll spend tomorrow trying to brush it out. At least it will look clean for class tomorrow night if we can stay away from the dog park.
Have you ever looked closely at a veterinarian’s hands and arms? If you have, you would see tiny lines of scars on them, a memory of the cats that have scratched them. I myself have plenty.
I have two scars that I actually cherish. When Cowboy Joe was coming out of anesthesia, he was a little goofy, and raked the back of my wrist with his back claws. There are two long, thin scars, memories of a strung-out kitten. It’s a memory from a cat I dearly love, so I am happy to look at them. At the time it happened, 2004, I was not amused. Since my cat was loopy, I understood.
The other scar I treasure was put in place by Pruney, the cat of my life. While living at home with my mom after college, I decided that Pruney, an inside/outside cat, should wear a collar. Many cats wear collars just fine. Pruney-not so much. She managed to get the collar stuck in her open mouth, and when I got her off the window screen where she hung onto dear life, she raked the same wrist with her two canine teeth. After over 40 years, I can still see the reminder that not all cats can wear collars. The last cat I tried a collar on was Kitty Alexander, our 20-pound tuxedo, who promptly got hung up on a door hinge. I had to unhook him. Now, I know how collars should fit on animals. No mistakes there. It’s part of what I teach my clients. These were just two freak accidents, and since Pruney was my last outdoor cat, there really is no need for collars on my cats. And a heads up to our humane society, I don’t license them, either, when they get their rabies vaccinations. Bad Mary.
In practice, my favorite part of well kitten visits is to educate people about how to care for their cats properly. The most important part of this lesson is, “How Not to be Killed by Your Kitten.” You see, people like to have Kitty chase their fingers across the room, or wave their hand back and forth on the carpet. It’s so much fun to see him get so riled up he can’t think, and runs around the room like he’s possessed. Bad idea. Kitty gets the idea that, 1. It’s OK to bite the finger when he catches it, which is instinctual, and 2. It’s OK that human body parts make great chew toys. They are not. NEVER use hands to play with your cat or kitten. Instead, have a toy or string that they cat catch and play with. For strings and similar items, be sure to put them away when you are finished playing, as the strings could be swallowed by an unsupervised cat and wind up stuck in his intestines and will have to be surgically removed.
The same play rules are true with human feet, except Kitty will add hiding for pouncing on and biting the feet. If you like being attacked by an unseen ball of fur, by all means, go for the foot fetish. It can, however, be very painful in the sensitive area of the top of the foot. Picture Tiger lying in wait until you come home from work, looking at the mail when, WHAM! You are attacked from below-a direct hit to the ankle.
Also be that cats like to climb things, like the drapes. Bad Kitty. This behavior is reinforced by thinking it’s cute for Kitty to climb up your pants with his razor sharp claws.
So what to do if your cat is the Kamikaze who actually gets to you even after you stop playing with hands and feet? First, don’t physically discipline an animal, ever. The cat is only acting on its instinct of preditory behavior. Second, you have only three seconds to react until the devious act is out of Kitty’s mind. Fill an empty soda can with small rocks, and have it ready to shake at Kitty when he is bad. Making a hissing noise is cat talk for “Look out, I’m going to get YOU”! You can also turn and walk away, play time is over, period. Be strong, even if he wants to start playing with you again. Nope-game over.
What’s more fun than playing with a kitten? Nothing! But be aware of safe ways to play with your little furball so no one, you or Kitty develop bad behaviors and gets hurt.
I am wary about dog parks. They are great business for veterinarians. This mean that dogs can get hurt at a dog park. Yet I serve on the Parks and Recreation board (16 years total so far,) and when we build a new community or large park, we include a dog park. That’s what the people ask for in a park.
I cringe whenever I see a dog off leash. I live next to a dedicated prairie, the Cathy Fromme Prairie, dog laws strictly enforced. But still, every time I walk Ivy on the paved trail, some yahoo has his or her dog off leash.
One dude on a bike was running his mutt off leash while he pedaled in comfort. I asked him to please leash his dog. His reply, “Oh get over it.” Oh well, there are only so many park rangers, and they are usually elsewhere.
On the prairie, there are an uncountable number of rattlesnakes in the grass. Want to see one in the heat of the day? Surprise one. It doesn’t want to eat you, you are too big. So is your dog. However, the coil and strike maneuver is the snake’s defense mechanism. I’m teaching Ivy the word, “sidewalk,” so she knows not to yaw off the trail. If you want to go and look at a snake, go in the early morning, when they are basking in the warmth of the pavement after a cool night. When it warms up, the snakes retreat to the cooler underbrush.
The dumbest thing I’ve seen on the prairie was a grown woman with a black Lab, and a tennis ball launcher. She actually was going to have her dog chase balls through snake-infested grass. Oy.
In my old neighborhood made up largely of college students, I asked dog walkers to please put Fido on a leash. Their retort: “This dog is on voice command.” Sorry, dudes and dudettes, there is no such thing. Sure, your dog may come with you and be good for regular or boring things, but if it sees something exciting like a racing bunny rabbit, pause for mental image of a racing bunny, voice command is no more.
So today I took Ivy to the dog park. It’s on the east side of town. I live on the west side. I go to this park because it is not frequented by students and their largely untrained dogs, who prefer the west side dog park at the very end of Horsetooth Road. We people know each other, and our dogs know each other as well. A lady came in with her doodle-it’s fun to see an adult version of my Ivy-and promptly yelled at a man with what she called an aggressive dog. He wasn’t aggressive. He met dogs with a bark, and maybe a chest bump. Then he settles in to play. She took her dog to the end of the park. She stayed there. Her “dood” came back to the other dogs to play.
Just as there is no voice command, at the dog park, there is not much obedience. The dogs are there to run and play. If we leave them alone, they work it out. Once, I was there with just a few people. Two women came in with a truly aggressive dog, the women oblivious to the sign prohibiting them. The dog went after our little cadre of mutts. We nicely said that her dog was aggressive and should be removed. Totally different behavior than the man’s dog who settled down. This dog didn’t, and attacked again. The ladies got the message and left.
Ivy loves the dog park, and she is a popular figure to see. It’s kind of like the TV show, “Cheers” where everyone shouts, “NORM” when he enters the bar. She knows how to play appropriately and socialize, which will serve her well.
Go to the dog park, don’t go to the dog park. It’s entirely up to you. But before you go, read up a little on canine behavior, OK?