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Saturday Flashback

I’ll be the first to admit that with my hectic work schedule, writing takes a backseat, and when Saturday rolls around I lack the discipline required to create. In this spirit of slack, I offer you a few visual tidbits….

I don’t know why this picture of Nigel cracks me up, but it does – and not because Sola has her nose buried in his fruitbowl. I chose not to use photo correction in order to preserve the glowing bug eyes.

Baby Sola. This pic was not staged, but could not sum up the attributes of Sola more perfectly – she is all tomboy. A little pink, a little blue, a little batsh*t.

This one is not as much fun – it’s Truffles sporting some bling. Those rings hold metal rods that pass through holes drilled in the bone. She can decimate a paycheck in a hurry.

We had to tighten the nuts daily to bend the leg back in to shape. I’ll never eat shish kabobs again.

I’ll leave you with this, the essence of a wintery Saturday afternoon.

Harmony.

Happy Saturday!

Dis-integration

What are any of us, but the sum of our parts? Here are a few of the many facets of Fudgepants: Read more

Dog Training, $1

Mr. Frog prays for an end to the madness.

I don’t whisper. Yes, I’ve seen that Cesar guy and he’s got it all figured out. Actually, he’s nothing short of astounding, and I wish I had some of his magic. That is not my fate. I am destined to languish among moderately well behaved dogs due to my inability to play hardball with consistency.

Case in point – a crowd favorite, your buddy and mine; Nigel. He is kind, gentle, and generally eager to please. Unfortunately (begin dramatic voice) Nigel has a dirty secret.

In short, he was a carpet crapper.

It takes merely a loud clap to spook him, so training him not to counter surf was easy. He never snacks on furniture (as did Sola) or bullies the ladies. He loves everyone in a big way, and we cherish him. Yet for more than a year, Mrs. Author would arrive home from running errands to find a most unfortunate gift, given in the most fresh and warm way possible. A real stink bomb.

I clapped many times, stomped my feet; threw loud tantrums and scared him silly. It was all for naught. For no apparent reason, Nigel preferred to take care of business in the house. We could have walked him to Alaska and back and he’d hold out. Profanities were uttered out of sheer frustration, knowing that no matter how hard we tried, how far we walked, how much we begged, he was going to bomb the carpet.

There is a faint silver lining in this literal cloud of a story. He chose the mat by the front door as his target. There was an unsavory lesson to be learned as we embarked on this journey – opening the door on the way in took a perfect slice off the top and smeared it across the carpet like so much frosting, a perfect patch of rancid refuse waiting for the shoe to drop. The first couple of times it did.

For a year we were locked in this poop pattern, and there was much applause in the house. I resigned myself to the fact that I would have to give up my dream of wiring every appliance in the house with The Clapper. In retrospect, it was this crushing blow that sent me over the edge.

As I watched TV one evening, a disturbing scene played out before me. Nigel quietly made his way to the door and assumed the position while I sat there stunned. He must not have cared for the weather forecast on TV, and thus decided it appropriate to create his own brown clouds. I went bonkers. All of the rules had changed – Nigel no longer cared to muster the energy to hide it.

I fumed as I bagged his bounty, hands bruised from months of clapping, olfactory senses ablaze. Nigel eyed me with amusement. I rose, molten bag in tow, and took a step toward the kitchen. As Nigel relaxed I paused briefly, positioned the bag approximately six inches above his head, took aim and….by the time Nigel realized what had happened I had resumed my walk to the kitchen and was ten feet away. He bemoaned my lack of restraint: I reveled in it. Truffles and Sola averted their eyes…

Nigel: I am scarred for life. A chocolate hot water bottle deposited squarely on my noggin – the utter indignity.

Author: Actually, you just stood there and let it lazily roll off your head. Your eyes however, were the size of my head.

Nigel: Fine, you made your point.

Author: And I did. Oddly enough, Nigel never had an accident in the house again.

Now before all of you start complaining to me telling me I should not have written about this, that I should have found another way – understand that I am not advocating making turd hats for your dog if you have the same problem.

I simply had a profound need to share the fact that Nigel is just strange enough to have required it.

Sola: It looked like a bag of, well, Truffles.

Truffles: I smell better. Nigel is a hothead, in literal terms.

Nigel: Please, all of you go play in traffic.

Happy Holidays All

After a year of stress and uncertainty, it’s time to take a break and remember all the good that we are graced with. We count our friends among our blessings, and hope that you and yours enjoy a happy holiday season, and a prosperous 2009.

Be well!

A Prayer for Truffles

A bit of bad news. Not a bit really – more like a mountain. Our little Truffles has idiopathic encephalitis. Sorry for the medical speak, but we have lost three dogs in five years and have likely spent somewhere in the neighborhood of forty thousand dollars on vet bills in that time, so we have become accustomed to vet lingo. We knew something was wrong when she had what appeared to be a petit mal seizure and began circling left whenever she attempted to walk.

In layman’s terms, there is an area of her brain that is swollen. We have not identified the cause, but it’s more important that we know what we are dealing with. It took a few thousand dollars and a battery of tests to narrow it down: Now we are going through a painful process of elimination as it pertains to treatment. Since the cause is not known, the usual course of treatment does not apply. She has gone through four rounds of meds and we’re not there yet.

So we treat, and wait, and hope. The good news is that she is holding steady; her condition has not worsened. She is a tough little cookie, and that huge heart of hers is brimming with love. Please send good wishes her way – throw her a bone in your prayers. She’ll love you for it, as will we.

Happy Thanksgiving

Our best wishes to our friends, family and colleagues on this Thanksgiving. May you have a safe and joyous holiday!

And Now for Something Completely Different.

I’m guilty; we’ve been MIA. It’s the job thing. Years of no free time have taken their toll, and I’m trying to find time to catch up.

But there is a change. A big one. We up and moved, to the (initial) dismay of the dogs. They like their routine, and we certainly broke that up a bit. The downside: they are fenced in. In actuality, Nigel is thrilled. He had to be leash walked until now, and he’s happy for his relative freedom. But the ladies had been free to roam for years, and are not so happy to have boundaries.

They have yet to discover the good news. The house comes with a river. Winter has arrived early and the river is too fast for them, and will stay so until summer. We have not let them near it, and the river falls away in front of the house, while they are fenced in behind. They will forget about it until it’s warm enough to keep the windows open, right about the time that the last snowbank has melted.

They have stopped pouting, and all seems right again. I ran downstairs to throw wood in the stove last night and noticed something on the side of the stairway.

Call me dog-centric, but it almost looks like it could be… : )

Autumn Wishes

As the holidays approach, we pause to take stock – and are thankful for so much.

Many thanks to regular readers, friends, family and colleagues. May you be blessed with all you wish for in abundance.

For those outside of New England, I thought I’d share a little love in the form of foliage…

Bear With Me

Well, there was.

Mrs. Author is a food pusher. Take a look around our home and you’ll notice that most of us are well fed – perhaps too well. Once we have had our fill and cries of mercy emanate from the dinner table, Mrs. Author’s love of feeding spills out of the house – to the joy of forest inhabitants that surround us.

A cursory glance at our back deck reveals a most unsavory sight. Bread, birdseed and suet litter the landscape like the remnants of a Roman feast. Look a little closer, however, and the workings of an entire ecosystem come in to focus. Squirrels, mice and the like flit about the rubble, cheeks exploding with new found culinary delights. Birds (the intended recipients of treats) dive bomb the crowd in a frantic effort to secure scraps. Raccoons sweep through the rubble, sending smaller creatures scrambling for cover. It’s a bona fide feeding circus.

For months I have protested this feeding for fear that we might end up with larger visitors of the sort that evoke stories of evisceration, laceration, amputation – all the nasty tions. My protests fell on deaf ears. My fears were well founded.

The evening of July 27th found us parked in front of the tube catching up on local news. I was just coming down from a harried, hectic day at the office, content to spend quiet time with the family. Unfortunately, discontent was on the menu and heaping platter of it was served up to me as I wandered past the kitchen window….. and stared directly in to the eyes of a very large, hungry black bear.

I’ll only go so far as to speak for myself here, but I think it safe to assume a sort of universal reaction to a near six foot tall, multi-hundred pound killing machine standing at your back door. I jumped behind my wife and screamed for my mother. Then I grabbed the camera.

Despite the foreboding sense that a multitude of tions were about to be unleashed on me, I steadied the camera in an effort to capture the essence of the magnificent beast that occupied our back stoop. The fearless creature took no notice, and went about the business of dismantling our birdfeeder to gain access to the heroin like substance that had called him from the wild: suet, with berries.

Lest you think suet with berries sounds harmless (or downright silly) consider yourself warned. You may as well throw a honey covered quarter of beef in the back yard. Either way, you are going to have company. The kind that ends up in the news. As did we.

The irony of this was not lost on me: the same hungry, opportunistic bear who interrupted my Friday night news viewing experience had me on TV the next night speaking with reporters. Mrs. Author was there too – fussing with her hair, pleading with me to stop mumbling about my previous protests against leaving food out for wildlife. We explained that the bear had spent around 45 minutes with us. I tried to convey to the reporters how unfortunate it was that my camera ran out of tape just prior to my having delivered a devastating left hook to the intruder. They weren’t buying it.

*new- video footage!

After eating every crumb of food it could find, the bear wandered in to the yard of our neighbors and stopped in front of a large plastic ball left out by their child. Following a sniff and a nudge, he placed an enormous paw on the ball, immediately flattening it, the air escaping in a whoosh. Satiated and amused, he then meandered over to the pond, took a quick dip, and slipped away in the cover of the surrounding forest, never to be seen again. Yet.

I have considered asking Mrs. Author to walk the dogs at night. We’ll see how that works out, but in the meantime, I can claim one accomplishment: our yard is a food-free zone. No more screaming birds, angry raccoons or nine pound chipmunks. And if things seem a little lonely- perhaps even boring, that’s fine by me.

There is an upside to this story. The dogs witnessed these events from a safe distance.

Truffles: “Darn straight, I was under the bed!”

Sola: “Brownie points genius.”

Author: I do seem to remember that. That’s ok Truffles. Enjoy your evening outdoors…

Yes, that’s suet.

Happy Birthday Doodles

Saturday was Nigel’s birthday. It was a smashing good time – gobs of treats, company, a good movie. Once we hit the hay, Nigel started round two. I heard his claws clacking on the kitchen floor and thought nothing of it since our dogs are late night snackers.
By morning it was obvious things had gone awry. A trail of empty beer bottles and a disfigured peanut butter jar let to Truffle’s playpen, where I busted Nigel (still in full-on party mode) with one of Mrs. Author’s gossip mags.

Nigel: I’ll never live this one down.

Author: I won’t let you. I snapped a quick pic just before you fled the scene.

Nigel: Remind me to eat your socks.

Stone Cold Busted

Author: It’s too late for threats, your goose is cooked. Remember buddy – keep it simple. One day at a time.

Nigel: I’ve had enough. Who dumped a truckload of sand in my mouth? And for God’s sake please pass the Advil.

Forbidden Fruit

We’re all guilty. Who hasn’t felt the sinful tug of desire – for a better car, house, job, expensive trinkets, what have you. We’ve all stared over that fence of desire at (apparently) greener pastures. And like many before us, most of us have hand our hands slapped reaching for that cookie jar.

Truffles is no exception. Her desire for the taste of feline fur is near legendary in these parts. If and when our cat feels brave enough to explore the floor, Ms. Truffles jumps right over that fence, and lands squarely in…browner pasture. She gets schooled.

Boo (cat): I have all my claws. And a can opener.
Author: ?
Boo: So I can serve up a can of whoop ass as required.

Author: Ah yes, we have witnessed this on more then one occasion. It’s a simple process. Cat appears. Truffles attempts to make pancake of said cat. Cat cracks its knuckles and we cringe. What follows is a cacophony of dog cries, claws slicing at flesh, white and brown fur filling the air like so much pollen. It’s a remarkable sight, and-

Truffles (Fudgepants): I don’t find it remarkable at all. My nose was only meant to have two holes in it.

Author. You should know better. Follow Nigel’s example. Once a tolerator; now a total hater- Nigel does not trust Boo, and eyes him with guarded suspicion. But he keeps a safe distance.

Nigel: I’m happy to preserve my good looks. Think I’ll have another beauty nap zzzzz

Author: Good plan. Fudgepants is slowly but surely learning the value of restraint. Of late, she’s taken to lustful observation.

Oh, baby.

Not that we expect a lasting peace – Fudgepants is far too young to have learned all her lessons for now. We still keep the panini maker locked up.

Boo: Thanks for that!

Author: Most welcome friend. And so we wait. And we watch. And as the fur flies, we are reminded there are some things, no matter how delicious/beautiful/shiny they may be – that we are not meant to obtain.

Fudgepants: I’M GETTING UNDER THE COUCH I JUST HEARD THE CAN OPENER NOOOOOOO
Sola: Snicker
Boo: Bring it.

We’re BACK

Well, sort of. After months of 80+ hour weeks at work, things are becoming sane again – and there is much catching up to do! The last six months have been a blur – much like Sola with her Frisbee.

It’s time to write again, and I’ll be adding to these pages in the coming days and weeks. Big thanks to all of you who have checked in, and to those of you who have reminded me to share. We’ll be back soon – back with a vengeance!

Until then, be well…