Izzy’s bed in living room
Izzy on bed. As soon as I make bed he scrambles to put all his toys back on bed.
Croc giving me attitude. It’s 315 pm and he can’t eat till 400 pm.
Dog’s Life in Photos
dogs
The Case of the Mysterious Spotted Dog Murder
Our life with Annie, our surly, farting Dalmatian was complicated by her partner in crime, Greg, the ever-present kid from across the street. I use ever-present in the strictest sense. Greg’s mom worked nights. In a casual relationship never addressed by any of us, Greg made a beeline to our house as soon as he got home every day, hit the pantry for a snack, and let Annie out of prison. Greg was well known for investigating our premises, keeping himself abreast of what all that was going on at our house, while he dawdled about, picking things up, questioning, “What’s this? When did you get this?” We’d chat about his day. Afterwards, he and Annie would go off on a ramble, since we lived in a rural neighborhood with many large wooded areas. They were a common sight, known all over the neighborhood.
At any rate, one afternoon he and Annie stumbled on a construction site, just as a human skull was unearthed. Naturally, the ensuing hub bub was tremendous. With law enforcement and news crews arriving, Greg and Annie managed to be front and center, part of the big story. Greg was ecstatic, carrying the news all over the neighborhood, taking full credit for the entire situation. Anxious to milk the situation for all it was worth, Greg made a hasty trip back to our house to retrieve a gag item of my daughter’s, a dummy arm and hand intended to hang from the trunk of a vehicle, giving the impression of a body is in the trunk.
Returning to the wooded area near the site of all the excitement, Greg tossed the “arm” to Annie, initiating her favorite game of “keepaway.” Annie burst from the woods, arm in her mouth, ripping through the yellow crime scene tape. Greg was right behind her, yelling his head off. It was like a scene out of a Monty Python movie. Annie, no novice, at being chased by shouting strangers, headed home, dragging the incriminating arm. Winded, she scratched at the back door, still clinging to her prize. Shortly, she was followed by Greg and a bevy of law enforcement officers, asking to see the arm. She’d hidden in the bedroom, reluctant to part with such a desirable prize, but I brought it out for their examination. I was so glad not to be Greg’s parent that day.
Oh, the skull turned out to be that of a Native American who’d probably died more than one hundred years before.
Tough Cat
Ol’ Tom lived back in the good old days and had the run of the farm and only God knows how many wooded acres. Since he was intact, he often took leaves of absence to exercise his tom-catting. Sometimes he’d be gone as much as three months, then show up skinny, battered, and exhausted for some much needed rest and relaxation. With his tattered ears and many scars, he wasn’t handsome but it didn’t seem to effect his social life.
Tom and the dogs ignored each other except at feeding time. Daddy had several dogs and dispensed food in several receptacles to prevent fighting. I don’t mean dishes, I mean old hubcaps, old pots and pans, or bucket lids. Daddy made the dogs stand back till all the dishes were filled, then gave the signal “Ok!” The ravenous dogs fell to eating and never left a scrap.
Tom took command when he was home. Once the “ dog dishes” were filled, he took his pick. The older, wiser dogs stepped back till Ol’ Tom had his fill. A foolish dog might threaten him, once. Tom would calmly reach out and hook the dog’s tender nose, holding the poor animal captive at paw’s length till he ate his fill. At Tom’s convenience, he’d retract the claw and saunter off. It never took a dog but one lesson to respect Tom.
My Daily Habits
My habits are humdrum. I take the dogs out early because they demand it, feed and water them as soon as I get in so I won’t get trampled, drink some juice while I dawdle about and sit under my small dog a while. I think his hiney is broken since he doesn’t want to sit on his own. Bud and I visit until I feel compelled to a bit of housework I can’t put off any longer unless I slip out to the yard to play with my flowers. Of course, more dog walks. We usually brunch about eleven.
My afternoons are free for writing, crocheting or whatever other things I chose. I avoid errands, grouping them on one day. Several times a week I visit Mother or take her out. On those days, I usually check Lowes for plant markdowns, the only shopping I like. Our nearby Lowe’s is the smallest in town. They get the same amount of stock as the bigger Lowes, so their markdowns are great
All written out, my life looks pretty mundane but I love it.
No Fool Like……
Things didn’t go well from the start on Croc’s last visit to the vet. My half mastiff, half lab doggy boy weighs one hundred twenty-five pounds and pulls like a tractor. Desperate to sniff a steaming pile of poop, he snatched me down the instant I stepped out of the truck. I sprawled elegantly across the pavement, knocking my nose on the curb. I’d foolishly worn a skirt, so passersby were treated the view of my new undies as I struggled to grab the leash and avoid a greater disaster. Fortunately, Croc was fascinated by a steaming pile of dog poop and hadn’t escaped into traffic. He pondered sampling it as I struggled to my feet, felt around to find my glasses in another mess, and staunched the flow of blood from my damaged knees. He showed no sympathy for me as we made our way in, choosing instead to attempt a friendship with a five pound Yorkie. The tiny beast and her dainty mom were traumatized at the slobbering beast dragging me toward them. My muddied, bloodied countenance did little to reassure the duo, despite my assertion he only wanted to play. Happily, the teeny dog was the original mean girl. She tore into Croc, teaching him a lot about little, mean dogs. The staff got us in a room straight away. No waiting!
Four hundred and fifty dollars later found us checking out. By now Croc was happily munching his cookie. Once again, I was sobered at the cost of well-dog care, despite having experienced it only six months before. Incidentally, I had another dog at home scheduled for a pricey visit the very next day. I definitely can’t handle both at once. I’d made that mistake once, a sad story for another day.
Mean Doggy and her mom stood between my behemoth and the exit. Meany snarled maniacally at us, terrifying Croc. I enjoyed that. Momma was crying to the staff, “Can you find a home for her. I’m sick and I can’t take care of her no more.” She sobbed piteously. It was heartbreaking so I hurried out. After I got Croc, also known as Meatball, in the truck, I called Bud.
“Can we adopt a Yorkie? A sick, old lady has to get rid of her.” I went back for the poor dog. Miss Ann, her mama was delighted she’d found a sucker and pulled out her tattered checkbook to pay for Meany’s visit.
On learning her bill was ninety dollars, Mama paled. “Can you hold this check till next Tuesday?”
“I’ll get it. She’s my responsibility now.” Miss Ann took my number. True to her promise, she visits Biscuit, the little Yorkie, pretty often. She’s even taken Biscuit home for a visit a couple of times. Biscuit always seems to enjoy their visits, but doesn’t mourn for her.
More to come.
All His Idea
My son recently had surgery. He is recovering well. That is not the story. Bud and I came to spend a few days to stay with him at the hospital and help my daughter-in-law with their two Akitas. Akitas are huge furry dogs who shed copiously. Every day, there is enough hair on the floor to cover a whole new dog. The kids just moved and still have boxes to unpack. They have an aging vacuum cleaner that struggles with dog hair and has to be unstopped every few minutes to empty. Sadly, the vacuum cleaner implements are still packed in a moving box. I am the primary housekeeper since John is in the hospital and my daughter-in-law spends time with him and tries to keep their lives going. That being said, I need a fully functional vacuum cleaner with implements. “I am going to buy a vacuum cleaner as soon as I can get to a store. I cant’t keep up with the dog hair with this old vacuum cleaner and a dust cloth.”
Bud thought I could. “It vacuums just fine. You just need to unstop it when it plugs up.”
”It does not work fine. Take me to the store.”
“I don’t have time right now. I have to………” He mumbled as he walked off. He clearly intended to avoid the store.
The next day, I went to pick my daughter-in-law up after her hospital visit. She took me to the store and I got a nice vacuum cleaner. All the comings and goings have been hard on the dog’s nerves. The next morning, DIL left me at the hospital and picked Bud up, after he’d spent the night. When they got in the house, a horrible mess greeted them at the door. Trash was scattered all over the kitchen. One of the dogs had dragged a box of grits off the counter and stomped them all into the rug. There was liquid dog poop smeared in the bathroom rug. The dogs made enough mess between them to keep that new vacuum cleaner busy for a couple of hours.
After the storm, Bud remarked to DIL. “I told Linda y’all probably need a new vacuum cleaner.”
How did it get to be his idea?
Meet the Help
I don’t know how people get by without dogs. We have two, Buzzy, an American Eskimo Dog, and Croc, a mastiff mix. They shoulder a lot of responsibility around here. Below, they are pictured helping Bud in the shop.
Buzzy is on weed patrol.
Croc valiantly keeps the Fed Ex man at bay.
They are both checking to see whether this pillow should be on the floor.
Serving as area rugs. Notice the white fluff about halfway to the TV. Croc thoughtfully pulled it out of Buzzy’s tail and left it there for me, just in case I was looking for some.
They also keep the floors free of snacks at all times.
A Simple Command
Vintage Picture of Logging Operation
For a time, Daddy had an old time logging operation. Mr. Bill was old when Daddy was just a kid so he was probably at least eighty at the time he ran Daddy’s brought his horses and came to work. He set up camp in a shack on skids he hauled in on his old truck. A mess of barking dogs piled out when he opened the truck door, quieting at his word. A truck pulled in behind him hauling in his two enormous logging horses. At Uncle Bill’s command, the horses backed out of the trailer and moved into position behind his truck. He harnessed them to chains attached to the shack. In seconds it was unloaded and skidded into place. He quickly set to work sawing and positioning a few saplings to make a shelter for the horses, topping it was a few pieces of tin he pulled from the back of his truck. Two bucket for feed and a water bucket later, he and the horses were snug at home. The intelligent horses needed no reins, following Bill’s verbal commands as they slid the big logs out of the thickets, positioning them in perfect loading position next to the skids of the log wagon. There they waited until unchained from their load, only to walk around the wagon to assume their position on the opposite side of the wagon. As soon as they heard the chain hooked to their harness, they worked in tandem to pull the huge logs onto the wagon, halting at the sound of the logs settling into place. Had they only had opposable thumbs and been able to manage the chains, they wouldn’t have needed the help of the man at all. It was amazing to see the skill and respect Bill and his giants shared in the job they did.
AAsk Auntie Linda, August 24, 2015
Dear Auntie Linda, My husband and I are just barely squeaking by. We have three children under four. I would love to be a stay-at-home mother, but it’s out of the question. We need every penny to put food on the table. My parents are retired and babysit for us, but I have to pay them fifty dollars a week, fifty dollars we desperately need. Since they are both home anyway, it looks like they could do it for free, knowing how we are struggling just to keep food on the table and pay the rent. I have had to pay them late a time or two and Mom asked me about the money. Doesn’t this seem kind of cold? Broke and worried
Dear Broke, It is amazing that you pay fifty dollars a week for your parents to babysit three children under four. Maybe you should look around for a better deal, then come back and kiss the ground your parents walk on. That fifty dollars a week probably doesn’t cover what the children eat or the ibuprofen or aspirin your folks take at the end of the day. Auntie Linda
Dear Auntie Linda, I hate my mother’s mean little dog. She won’t come to visit without bringing that darn beast. It snaps and snarls at the children. We’ve never had a dog in the house. It rankles me that she favors it over the children. It drags its bottom on the carpet and I have to clean the carpet before I can let the baby down. This angers and disgusts both me and my husband. It is a real issue. What in the world do I do? Love Mama, Not the Dog
Dear Love Mama, Surely Mama has noticed that her little dog is less than welcome. Perhaps she can confine it to her room. That bottom dragging indicates the dog likely has impacted anal glands, an unpleasant and uncomfortable situation for Fido and the carpet owner, not to mention, dragging even a healthy bottom on the carpet where a baby will be crawling is disgusting. Unless Mama is demented, she ought to be able to understand the dog doesn’t need the run of your house or the freedom to terrorize children. What if the children hurt the dog? She needs to protect it. However, dementia is always a possibility. Auntie Linda
Nutsrok 