Tag-Archive for » pets «

We have Rabbits

Our dog Lilly is not as enthralled with the bunnies as the children seem to be -- notice her teeth.

It all started with a phone call from my brother-in-law. His daughter’s bunnies had had babies. Eight babies. He wanted to know if my kids would like bunnies.

My response was, “&%@* no.”

I am and have been under strict orders from my husband to not bring home anything that eats, and I have adhered to this. When we were first married, I would bring home cats and kittens and dogs and puppies, but I stopped when asked. In fact, it has been so long since I brought home anything that eats that all of the current animals in our house are here through the grace of my husband (I thought that sounded nicer than “my husband’s fault).

My brother-in-law was shocked. How could I deprive the children of bunnies? And so I agreed to call my husband at work and ask him.

I had to leave him a voice mail.

In the meantime, my children found out about the bunny offer and were just a wee bit excited. They were already fighting over which one would belong to which kid, and we hadn’t even agreed to get any!

My hubby called back and conceded that we would take a bunny.

This is where there was a break down in communication. He agreed to a bunny as in singular. I called my brother-in-law and said we would take a bunny for each child, which is FOUR bunnies. Whoops.

When I called back, my sister-in-law answered the phone. I had not yet told the kids my husband’s decision. The children were listening to my end of the conversation. When they heard me say yes, my children started screaming with joy. My sister-in-law could easily hear them.

Now, the children were impatiently waiting for the arrival of the bunnies. It involved lots of negotiating about who got to pick their bunny first as well as some texts to their cousin Christina to find out what the bunnies looked like.

The bunnies were about 7 weeks old when they arrived. The kids quickly claimed their bunnies.

Autumn’s bunny looks just like a wild rabbit that has been hopping in our yard lately. She named him Devil, but her siblings call him Diablo. Amanda who loves the color orange picked the orange bunny, and she named him Buckle. Maxine got one of the two black bunnies and named him Charlie. I think the YouTube video “Charlie bit me,” may have influenced her name choice. Justin became owner of the other black bunny. His bunny has a white ring of color around his neck. Justin, a huge Beatles fan, didn’t have a problem picking his bunny’s name: Ringo.

The bunnies arrived with a new water bottle, a bag of food and a borrowed wire hutch. The children had plans for the bunnies to live in the house, but we nixed that early.

Hubby was surprised to arrive home and find not one but four bunnies. I don’t think one bunny would have worked. Amanda already is spending some of her summer job wages to buy treats for HER bunny. She is the one that goes outside every day to feed and water and take care of the bunnies. The other kids also spend time with their bunnies every day, but it is more to play with them than to care for them. Maxine bought her bunny a harness and leash, which is hilarious.

We’ve had the bunnies about three weeks, and we finally got around to building a rabbit hutch. My husband was the main builder, but he said my son could take all of the credit. Everyone helped (except Autumn who was at work) build the hutch. We still need to put a few finishing touches on it — like paint it, but the bunnies are now in their new home.

Category: Life with Linda  Tags: , , , , ,  Comments off

My Neurotic Dog, Spike

Photos of Spike were taken by my daughter, Amanda Sherwood.

We are a three-dog family, but most people don’t know that. They think I only own two dogs because only two dogs live in the house. The third dog lives in a dog pen outside. Or at least he did until recently.

Spike is our beagle, and he has been a part of our family longer than the other two dogs, but he hasn’t lived in our house. It was his choice. He preferred staying in the pen outside for years. This summer, however, that all changed. He is older and starting to slow down, and he seemed to be lonely out in the pen.

When he was younger, Spike tended to wander. If he happened to get loose, he was gone for hours. He usually returned about 2 a.m. scratching on our bedroom door. When we opened it, he refused to step inside. This meant Steve (my husband) would either have to carry Spike out to the pen or carry him to the garage. Spike wasn’t happy when we carried him to the garage because it meant entering. the. house.

Apparently, to Spike, our house is a very scary place. He used to tremble in the doorway with his nose stretching towards the interior but his feet firmly placed outside. If you tried to drag him in, he would shake violently. Shaking would be the only move he would make since he was frozen wherever you happened to stop dragging him into the house. Panic was clear in his eyes.

This summer, the kids slowly changed Spike’s mind about the house. It turned out he didn’t like the tile and wood floors that greets everyone at our doors. Once he was ensconced in our carpeted living room, he was happy.

Eventually, Spike would venture onto the wood floor of our kitchen for the few steps he had to make between the living room carpet and the strategically placed “don’t let the dog slide around the corner and put a hip out” carpet. He would then gather courage to take four more steps across our mudroom’s tile to place his feet on the carpet in front of the door and out into the relative safety of the out of doors.

Months have passed, and Spike is pretty happy in the living room. He even is starting to like the kitchen since he learned that is where he goes to get treats. Plus the mudroom is where he can find food. Still, the variety of floor coverings in our house still perplexes and scares Spike.

He still refuses to enter the house through our bedroom door because apparently that wood floor can still NOT be trusted. He pretends the hallway to the bathrooms and bedrooms do not exist, and for Spike they do not because they require walking on a wood floor. If one of the children happen to carry Spike into a bedroom to spend the night, he is terrified until he arrives in the carpeted room. And even though he might be comfortable while he is in the room, don’t expect him to leave it.

A couple of weeks ago, he spent the night in Justin’s room. He walked happily across Justin’s carpeted floor, but where the carpet ended and became wood, Spike planted both of his feet at the very 90 degree angle junction and refused to go another step.

This weekend I unintentionally further traumatized Spike. It started when I decided to sweep the mudroom. He was ignorantly bliss out side while I picked up all the shoes and furniture and the throw rug and started sweeping. In mid sweep, the dogs demanded to be let in, and I opened the door wide. Our lab Zeus and our minipin Lilly didn’t waste anytime at all getting inside, but Spike stopped midstep when he realized the tiny carpet just inside our door was missing.

He didn’t know what to do. For at least a minute, he froze in halfstep. With lots of encouragement from me, he cautiously stepped down on the bare tile. He looked like any moment a building was going to fall and smoosh him flat. The thing is where the carpet normally would have stopped and tile began, Spike walked FINE. It was the same tile as those first two steps, but it was tile he had accepted.

Back in the living room, Spike was happy to be in carpeted bliss. I continued cleaning, and this meant I started moving furniture around. At one point, the hutch in my kitchen was next to the fridge. This is not a place the hutch normally goes, but I was moving things around and cleaning. The hutch blocked a portion of the extra wide doorway between the living room and kitchen.

Spike did not know what to do. He sat in the doorway, with his butt firmly on the carpet, and looked at this new obstacle. The hutch was in the way of the path to the front door and food that he had deemed OK. Suddenly, Spike would not enter the kitchen. I was amused and decided to test things.

I grabbed a treat and set it on the floor about 4 feet into the wood floor kitchen. Spike’s tail wagged. He smiled. His whole body shook with anticipation of getting his lips on that treat, but he would not step off the living room carpet. I called him and encouraged him and wafted the treat where his nose couldn’t help but smell its promised tastiness, but Spike remained in the living room.

I joined him and pushed his butt into the kitchen towards the treat on the floor. Spike immediately sought comfort in the rug that keeps the dogs from putting out a hip in their rush around a corner when visitors happen to be in our driveway. His feet were on the very edge, closest to the treat, and he stretched out his neck towards the treat. Slowly and cautiously, he stepped with his left front paw onto the wood floor and grabbed the treat. He then retreated to the carpet in the mudroom until I gave up and carried him back into the living room.

When the hutch was moved back, Spike was once again happy to travel through the kitchen and mudroom.

When we adopted Spike, we decided to name him after Snoopy’s brother from the comic strip Peanuts. Our Spike’s tendency to shake when in new situations reminded us of Snoopy’s skinny and sad looking brother. I guess when it comes to Spike, things happen in baby steps. After all, it took more than 10 years to get him to enter the house willingly.

Category: Life with Linda  Tags: , , , ,  Comments off

Why Cats are better than Dogs

ZeusLillyMy current household population includes 3 dogs and no cats. Although, technically, one of our dogs doesn’t actually reside in our house. It is his choice. He is a beagle, and he prefers his kennel outdoors to our house. In fact, our house sort of freaks him out. Most of our floors are wood or tile, and he refuses to walk on wood and tile.

Once in a while, he forgets and will happily run into the house, but he stops cold at the welcoming carpet, refusing to budget one more step lest he have to step on *shiver* tile. If we pick him up and carry him into the carpeted living room, he will relax and enjoy his time indoors, but don’t expect him to go anywhere else. From his reaction, you would think asking him to follow you into the wood-floored kitchen to get a treat would be asking him to walk to the hangman’s noose. Needless to say, Spike stays outside most of the time.

But we do have two dogs that manage to survive the wood floors. Of course, the wood floor by the fridge usually sends Zeus’s back end sliding as he rushes to or from the front door. But Zeus doesn’t let a sliding rear-end phase him. In fact, I think he now plans the slide.

And now I have written a whole heck of a lot about my dogs, and I still haven’t even explained why cats are better.

I used to have a cat. His name was Mittens, and he was amazing. He had the sixth toe, which is why he was named Mittens. I worked at home, and he would stretch out on the back of my office chair or his preferred location — across my wrists. This was actually ideal for both of us — it forced me to keep my hands on my keyboard, which is about 60 percent of what I needed to do in order to get work done. His position kept my hands in place but still allowed me the freedom to type. I finished a lot of work this way. Plus, his fluffy body kept my hands warm, which was good because my fingers tend to get icy cold when I do a lot of typing.

But Mittens lived a long life and eventually, he died. He was missed. We tried to bring other cats into our home, but the new arrivals weren’t Mittens. One, an adorable kitten, died mysteriously shortly after we adopted her. The next adoptee, a half-grown cat, had kennel cough when we first brought her home. She stayed with us for a while until she decided she preferred to be a barn cat at the neighbor’s house.

Fast forward a few years, and we are a cat-free home. I decided I won’t find another Mittens any time soon, and our house isn’t really set up for ideal litter box placement. The place I prefer to keep the litter box is also right by the door we use regularly to enter our house, and I don’t like walking into my home and smelling the litter box deposits. Most of the time, the litter box is smell-free, but there are enough times that are not that I decided no more litter box, which meant, sadly, no more cats.

I still work at home at least three days a week, but my current home companions are not Mittens. Zeus and Lilly are an odd combination. Zeus is a giant chocolate lab that weighs well over 100 pounds. He is about twice the size of most labs. And then there is Lilly. She is a mini pin that weighs less than 5 pounds. Her entire body is smaller than Zeus’s head. They do not stretch out and keep my feet or wrists warm as I work. They do not help me keep my butt in my chair and my hands on my keyboard.

My work day starts with Lilly having a fit. The kids have just abandoned her to go outside to wait for the bus. This leaves Lilly all atitter. She runs full out from the front door to the window and back. Eventually, she settles in the window and howls and whines as she watches the children standing at the end of the drive. She remains there, crying pitifully, until the big yellow bus arrives. As the children board the bus, Lilly barks angrily.

While all of this is happening, Zeus is outside. Our invisible pet fence keeps him from actually joining the children at the end of the drive, but he watches over them. It is his duty, and he takes it seriously. About 10 to 15 minutes after the children leave, Lilly has calmed down and curled up. She goes back to sleep hoping this abandonment is just a bad dream. Zeus eventually finishes his protective prowl around our property and scratches at the front door. This is my clue.

I stop what I am doing and go to the front door to let Zeus in the house. Sometimes, this fails because Lilly decides to go outside and Zeus decides to stay outside with her. And then I go back to work, and I rarely get 5 minutes of work done before Lilly and Zeus are back at the front door, scratching to be let in. I really wish they wouldn’t scratch the door, but it has proven effective for them, and it is too late to change now.

The pair will come in and take up residence in the living room. I will start to work — again. This might last a half hour to an hour. Longer if Zeus decides to skip the living room and instead climbs the stairs to the girls’ room and goes to sleep on one of the beds up there.

If there is a slight noise outside, however, the peace in the home is shattered. Lilly gets frantic and works Zeus up into a lather as well. They gather in front of me, tails wagging, ears perked, and demand to be let outside. The world is in danger, and they must protect me! And so I let them outside.

In the summer, the pair were content to remain outside for hours. They would bask in the sun. It is no longer summer, but Lilly never remembers this until she is actually out there. Within seconds, the cold air has made Lilly forget that she needs to save the world, and she scratches on the door to be let in. I oblige.

Zeus is no where near the door, however. This means that in less than 10 minutes, I will have to once again go to the door to let him in. And sometimes within minutes, a vehicle goes by our house a little too loudly, and the demand to save the world starts all over again.

It is amazing that I am able to get any work done at all given the number of times I must get up to let the dogs in and out. It makes me realize how much nicer cats are especially when I am trying to keep my butt in the chair and my hands on the keyboard in order to get some work done!

Category: Writing  Tags: ,  4 Comments

A Skunk Named Amy

Roommates Spike (the beagle) and Amy (the border collie)

Roommates Spike (the beagle) and Amy (the border collie)


In 1992 or so, my husband and I moved into our first place together. My father-in-law called it the stabbing cabin. It was a very old trailer with an addition. The addition wasn’t insulated, and it was the kind of place only two teenagers in love and trying to move out of their parents homes and in someplace together would rent.

It was out in the country and on lots of very pretty land. The place was wonderful in the summer, but in the winter things were a little cold. As I said, it wasn’t insulated and where the addition met the trailer wasn’t sealed. Our cat could let itself out by climbing up on top of the trailer and then down. It was the house where we once had ice floating in the toilet, and I once had to scrape frost off our TV screen in order to watch the morning news (I’m not exaggerating).

Still, it was our home, and Steve and I set about populating our home. Steve brought with him his black lab, Duke, and we also had his brother’s ex-girlfriend’s dog, Chester, who was a lab/chow mix. It wasn’t long before I brought home a cat, and after a visit to an animal shelter in Grayling in the spring of 1993, I also brought home a puppy about a year old and destined to be put down if she didn’t find a home.

According to the papers that came with her, the dog’s name was Amy Marie, but I just called her Amy. She was a cocker mix, a mutt, but she was a friendly mutt. According to the paperwork, she was 8 weeks old on June 25, 1992. She reminded me of my childhood dog, Chrissy. And just like Chrissy, whenever Amy was loose, she would run and run. When she was done exploring, she would return home.

When I became pregnant, we moved out of the stabbing cabin, and Amy along with the rest of the animal crowd moved with us. We moved one more time to where we live now, and again, Amy came with us along with a new baby. It wasn’t long before we had as many babies as we did dogs, and Amy reigned over all of the boy dogs.

Amy never had her own puppies. She was fixed after I adopted her from the shelter. She was so energetic. She did everything at full speed.

As the babies grew, they began taking Amy and our other dogs for walks and caring for them all.

Last fall, Amy got out of her kennel and for the first time in a long time, she acted like she did when she was a puppy and took off running. She didn’t come back.

We searched everywhere for Amy. We called her name even though we knew she wouldn’t hear us because she was going deaf. And we hoped she would find her way home even though she had cataracts over her eyes.

Days passed and added up to a week, and I realized Amy wasn’t coming back.

And then our neighbor called. She’d found Amy in a deep hole on her property. Amy was alive thanks to a puddle at the bottom of the hole. She was filthy and hungry, but she was alive. We brought Amy home and cleaned her up. I didn’t expect her to stay alive the next 24 hours, but she did. Amy was always proving me wrong. She gained weight and was perky once more, but she refused to leave her kennel unless she was on a leash. She didn’t want to end up in a hole again.

I didn’t expect her to make it through the winter, but she did. Her age was showing, though. She was still the sweet Amy we always knew, but she wasn’t hyper or fast anymore. Amy had become a turtle as old age set in hard and fast.

Today, Autumn went out to feed the dogs a special treat, and she came running back in. There was something wrong with Amy. Autumn and I went back out, and Amy was curled up in a dog house, breathing hard. She even began howling a bit. She wouldn’t come out of her dog house, and she seemed to be struggling to breathe. Autumn and I knew it wouldn’t be long.

We were both torn. Today was Maxine’s birthday, and we didn’t want Amy to die on Maxine’s birthday, and we didn’t want to make Maxine worry. But we didn’t want to see Amy suffer either. Maxine had friends here, and the birthday party was in full swing. It was difficult to check on a sick dog without alerting the party-goers.

Amy made it easier. She didn’t wait for us to make arrangements. She died. She was 17.

Steve buried Amy as I watched. She had a good life, and Steve reminded me she lived so much longer than she would have if I hadn’t adopted her once upon a time.

She was loved, and she will be missed. Spike, our beagle, will especially miss her.
Later, after cake and ice cream, Maxine opened her gifts. Among them was a Webkinz — a skunk. And in memory of a very good dog, a computerized version of the skunk came to life in our computer and was named Amy.

Update on things at my house

It’s been a while since I’ve ranted about Stupid Dog (aka Neutron). We have an electronic fence to keep our dogs in the yard. We installed it not long after Stupid Dog was gone all night and we found him with his leg caught in a fox trap not far from our home. Luckily, the leg wasn’t broken, but it was injured. He healed.

Last week Stupid Dog started crossing the line, and I couldn’t figure out why. I tightened his collar and thought it’d be OK to let him loose. And the Stupid Dog took off right out of our yard, and trying to catch Stupid Dog is worse than trying to catch a rabbit. When he realizes he is free, he completely gives up any recognition of his name or his owners that he ever had.

So I soon found myself tromping through a neighbor’s yard trying to catch stupid dog. As I walked through the backyard, I said loudly, "Neutron, you stupid dog!" And that’s when the neighbor, an elderly lady, yelled at me from her windown. "Don’t you dare swear!"

And I realized the lady didn’t realize I said Stupid because I said it in a tone that is usually reserved for swear words. And as I chased our Stupid Dog I hastily explained I hadn’t sworn, and that SD is practically the dog’s name. (Neutron/Stupid Dog by the way is a mini pin.)

When we returned home, I realized Stupid Dog’s collar wasn’t working. So I switched collars and Stupid Dog once again remains home. Even when he doesn’t want to. For instance, yesterday a neighbor’s dog was loose and in heat, and Stupid Dog wanted ever so much to chase after her and become her Friend. But the pesky fence kept sending him back into our yard. My children, feeling sorry for Neutron, gathered him up and brought him in the house.

Stupid Dog in the house when he wants to be outside is pretty much unbearable. He jumps and runs and whines and is annoyingly hyper, and he’ll walk all over you as he attempts to convince you to let him outside. It’s almost as if someone has hit his fast-forward button. Plus he was making noises we’d never heard from him before. At one point he made a horrible noise that didn’t sound like anything a dog could make. My husband thought it might have been one of the children. The poor dog’s heart was breaking. We’re so mean.

Plus, I still giggle whenever he gets shocked. Take that! I’d feel bad, but this is a dog that growls at me when I pet him.

Zeus? Our 100-plus pound lab stays in our yard most of the time, but when he wants to get out, he steels himself and runs right over the line. So he could very well have gotten a bit friendly with that female beagle yesterday. In fact, when he came in last night, he brought her with him. We wouldn’t let her come in. We have plans to buy a stronger collar for him.

***

There are black marks on the road where we live. I didn’t notice them. But my husband, who had been gone for four days noticed them right away, alerting him to a story I didn’t know had happened.

My children and Mom were walking along our road. Justin and Autumn were in front of my Mom. Justin was at the bridge when Autumn started walking back to where my mom was at. He decided to run from one side of the road to another. Without looking.

I don’t know how close the 18-wheel semi came to my 7-year-old boy.

My mom and his sisters yelled, and my son stopped.

The semi-truck blew its horn, and applied its breaks.

The tire marks are in the center of the road, straddling the yellow line.

And I try not to think about how differently it could have ended.

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...
Category: Mother of the Yeeeaar  Tags: , , , ,  Comments off