Category: Pets

Mother's Day Blues......

5/12/2014

Jack

Robert

Last Mother's Day I went dumpster diving and although not a very grandiose thing to do to celebrate my special day, it was a fun story to tell. This year I spent the day in tears, well at least most of the morning, although the after effects lingered until bedtime.

I’m not a very attractive crier. I won’t use the word ugly to describe my swollen face, tear burned lids and blotchy skin, but I could frighten a baby. Some people cry gracefully; a cute little sniffle and a bit of water trickling down their porcelain cheek as they dab it daintily with Kleenex. Me? Not so much.   I become a snot filled, boiled lobster, swell like a bee sting and convulse as if I’m on the way to the gallows.

I got up Sunday and decided to adopt those two darling little poms from my stepdaughter. Sure that would make six dogs, but after four, it’s only a number. The more dogs you have the better behaved they are. They teach one another the ropes and play follow-the-leader nicely. There would be a few more yard turds to eradicate but I could look at it as an exercise program; bending over tightens the stomach muscles right?

I went on the computer and looked at their little faces and started to cry. I’d shed quite a few tears over these guys. I see this dilemma through the animal’s eyes, sympathize with their feelings. They love Pam, it is the only home they’ve ever had. They also love one another and would probably end up separated. Their entire lives would be turned up-side-down and they won't understand. The best scenario if that they will be heading towards something good, but who knows what’s in store for them?   Hubby gave me a hug. He knows these dogs well as he stays with his daughter when in Calgary. He left it up to me knowing I would be the one with most of the responsibility of a six pack.

So we phone her to say we want them and were told they were already taken to the Pommy Country Rescue the day before. The flood gates opened and I’m now a howling fool in the middle moaning spewing out of me. I look in the mirror and I'm so red. My head feels like it will blow at any second and my eyes have strain marks, even the white part look red. What a lookin putz! I cried for about an hour after that......full blown wailing.

I was still hurting when my son and his girlfriend bought took us out for dinner. They commented my face was overly red and I said it was the heat in the place, which in part was the truth, but that only compounded the fifty shades of rouge.   There is no quick fix for this face, once I cry it’s an all day suffering. My lids felt like they were acid scorched and my mascara burned as I applied it. So much for looking decent on my evening out. I could only imagine how badly I looked on the outside when I felt like crap on the inside. To anyone else maybe I looked like I was suffering from pollen allergies or cat hair. I couldn’t have a glass of wine with dinner as I was seriously dehydrated from crying a river of tears so I sipped four glasses of water throughout the evening.

So now we wait. I’ll give that shelter two weeks…the dogs will think mommy went away on another trip…they’ll not realize the score and will expect her back anytime. After two weeks a dog starts to worry and grows sad. I’ve seen it. My Shepard cried and finally tore up his bed and toys after he gave up waiting. That poor guy couldn’t bark for a year as he severely strained his vocal chords barking for me.   I never left him again. Dogs need their human parents as much as we need them.   New studies out say that dogs might be pack animals but they prefer their human's company to another dog.

The best scenario is that they find a great home, get to stay together and are loved profoundly. I’m willing to take them but if I knew they fared well I’d be happy. After all I am a virtual stranger so coming to live with me would be as much of a transition as elsewhere. I’ll be watching the progress. If they linger at this place I will have to jump in. Pam seemed concerned that they would have to be sent to us by plane but they’d get over it. Surely it can’t be worse than unloading them on a stranger?   Sorry, but I really don’t understand. Pets are for life unless you are sick or die. Pretty black and white just like Robert.   I would cut my right arm off before I gave up one of mine, someday, someone will be prying them out of my cold dead hands. Besides, you can lightly sedate the pups to take that edge off the trip.   In the large picture of things, a few hours of suffering would far outweigh being abandoned, especially when they are heading towards the love of a wonderful forever home.

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For the love of dogs.....

5/9/2014

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GRETEL, THE PINE MARTIN

I am now the proud sponsor of a Pine Martin for a year. They sent a package with my wards picture and information. This is all the result of my little mink rescue and introduction to the Hope For WildLife Society.

In April 2003, the Hope For Wildlife Society received a call from the NS Agricultural College in Truro; a mother pine martin had died and they wondered if the society would raise the two orphans. Named Hansel and Gretel, the babies weighed only 12 oz each and their eyes were still closed.

Unfortunately Hansel died shortly afterward from a coccidia infection. Gretel, also infected, was then given medication, which probably saved her life. A member of the weasel family, pine martins are an endangered species in Nova Scotia, with less than 100 believed to be living in the upper Cape Breton Highlands. Because of Gretel's lineage, the Department of Natural Resources advised that she not be released back to the wild. Knowing this, Gretel has been raised with a lot of human interaction. Gretel helps to educate visitors to the Hope For Wildlife Society center - especially young visitors - about the endangered species in our own province, allowing them to actually meet on of these species up close.
Photograph and story by Ronda Brennan, a volunteer with the Hope For Wildlife Society.

Mr. Lucky, my little rescued mink has been the catalyst for this education. I never heard of the society until I picked the little mink off of the highway. Now I want everyone to know! I called Robert Hirtle, a local newspaper reporter, and he interviewed me on Tuesday for a feature article about Mr. Lucky, in the local paper, maybe even a front page story. I was trilled to help spread awareness for this worthy organization.    Hubby and I have been watching the "Hope For Wildlife" television show. What they are doing is heartwarming to see. A bit of good news in a world of negative misfortunes and heart wrenching stories.

We don’t have more than the local cable package, the cheapest plan going, so we aren’t privy to the new shows on the upper channels. We only get the reruns on Channel 10 but that’s okay, we’ll catch up eventually. Last evening they were rescuing baby foxes left abandoned under a boardwalk. There was a litter of 5 pups that would have died on their own. As I was watching my heart felt like it was reaching toward the screen. Those little faces, so beautiful.  How can anyone turn their back on or hurt such innocence. I wish sometimes my heart was a bit softer for mankind but humans aren’t as warm and fuzzy.

The face of the fox with its pointed nose reminds me of the Pomeranian, Chihuahuas and my poodles.   For me this defining profile makes for the cutest faces. I just struggled with the opportunity to take in two poms. My daughter-in-law’s life circumstances have changed since her separation and working two jobs in Calgary she finds it difficult to juggle all her responsibilities that leave the dogs on their own for long hours everyday. She decided to try to find them a new home. Although I believe that pets are for life (their life), I also believe you have the right to do what is best for you and I'm not there to walk in her shoes. I struggled with whether I could take them or not. I feel so badly for the dogs, they love her and what if they are separated, the two of them have been buds since they were adopted, their entire world will be turned upside-down. It really breaks my heart and I thought long and hard about taking them in, maybe even care for them until her life gets back on track. But then I look at my own responsibility of four pups and ask myself if I could realistically take on two more? Truthfully, if they were poodles I wouldn’t have given it a second thought. That’s the dog breed I'm attracted too, we all have our preference, the look, the personality the compatibility. I’m not opposed to the pom and I think they're cute but the love isn’t immediately there.   Six dogs, even small ones would be a handful and of course I still work.   All the maintenance, all the poop, all the cooking and washing and flea picking. I only have so much room on my lap! With six dogs lying on me on the sofa I’d be buried alive!    At some point I would be in charge of 6 geriatric dogs, maybe having to carry them around. Could I do it?

I can’t take on the world but this keeps me awake nights. I worry the poms won’t be happy, or not be treated well, what if, what if?   I met them once when they visited Mahone Bay so they are familiar, not just dogs in a photo. If only I lived closer I could take them on a trial basis to see how we all gel.

ROBERT (LEFT) AND JACK (RIGHT)

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Doggie toy box on a budget!

4/22/2014

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Years ago I had a friend build a wood box with finial feet so I could make a footstool. I planned to paint the legs and upholster the top and sides. It was going to double as storage unit with a removable top. Well, that was one of those good intentions that turned into a big ole procrastination so the box ended up in the basement out of sight and forgotten for twenty years.

One day while searching the internet I came across a site that had unique, hand painted beds and toy boxes for pups. Although amazingly beautiful, the cost was astronomical…$400 plus shipping for a toy box was a bit out of my price range. I lamented a bit, being a princess, I want what I want and usually get it, but I just couldn’t condone spending that kind of money on such a frivolous purchase.

That’s when I remembered that wooden box in the basement.   All I had to do was throw away the top, cut a half circle in one side and I was in business! I used some house paints that coordinated with our house interior which covered the box itself and then artist paints for the highlights. Total cost....under $30.00!

It was a lot of fun to design and paint.....the proverbial labour of love. My four pups watched on as mommy transformed a plain old wooden box into a flashy, toy chest. Of course it was too small to hold all of their toys but it fit nicely beside their whimsical drinking bowl, filling the need to coordinate at all cost. We packed up some of the excess toys and threw out the well-worn, ragged ones. We bring a few of them out every now and then to re-introduce as new and put some of the older ones away for later.

You can’t show favouritism so every time I buy toys for my babies I have to get four of them. I let them choose which one they like by throwing them on the floor and they scramble to grab one, politely I might add, and that’s their special toy for the day. They love new toys! If anyone argues that they don’t understand about ownership I would argue. They know just as well as any two year old and share about as well. They coddle and covet their new toy to make sure they’ve marked it well with their own drool just to say, I had it first!

So now they have this great toy box that they pretty much empty every time we fill it back up. By the end of any day our living room looks like an explosion in a toy factory and that’s okay. The happiness of our pooches is all that matters.   We haven’t been able to train them to pick up after themselves although Jake, our youngest, likes to corral a pile of toys on his bed and lay on top of them.

I love to watch my babies go to the box, sniff for the right toy for the day, hour, or minute, whatever suits the fancy, and dig it out. I guess it doesn’t take much to amuse me. Watching my babies at play or sleep brings happiness usually reserved for winning the lottery, world travel, falling in love and chocolate. What can I say ? I love those pups no less than if I carried them for nine months and gave birth to them. Only other pet owners could possibly understand!

JAKE SCORED HIS TOY FOR THE MORNING. NOTE THE RECYCLED FAUX FUR BED ON THE FLOOR THAT WAS MOMMA'S LAST WINTERS GO TO JACKET. NOTHING BUT THE BEST FOR MY BABIES!

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Oh lord....the flies!

9/28/2013

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When I got home from work last evening I took the pups out for some circle running on the neighbour’s hill. Poodles tend to run in circles, or maybe all dogs do, I have no frame of reference other than my guys, all I know is that the four of them speed around and around, ears flying in the wind.

We exercised and threw ball and they played games of chase…all the pent of energy of a day home alone melting away in the warm, afternoon breeze.

Then we went inside for a drink and that’s when I first I noticed that Jake was acting funny. He was panting and tried to hide behind me on the chair. I was giving them a chicken handout and usually he’s the greedy one but now he wouldn’t take the food at all. Alarms starting going off, my baby was sick! I pick him up and he’s shaking like a leaf and I know you aren’t supposed to coddle that kind of behavior or you can teach the pup to be neurotic so I put him down and tried to distract him from whatever might be bugging him. I didn't realize at the time that "bugging" couldn't be closer to the truth.

Not knowing for sure what was the matter and him not being able to tell me, I considered a call to the vet. After hours isn’t cheap but money isn’t a factor when it comes to the pooches, I’m prepared to remortgage my house if need be, but I like to examine and work the situation in my head first to make sure I’m not wasting my money and their time. I tried to stay calm....panic is not an option as they smell that and it makes any situation worse.

I got out the dust mop as that usually drives all four of them crazy and I hoped it would distract him and take him out of his head, but he just looked on as the rest lost their minds. Then he went over to the door and sat on the mat, pleading with his eyes to go outside. So we sat on the back deck and he cuddled next to me and seemed okay. We sat there awhile pondering life and the beauty of the day then went back inside. The shaking and panting started up again. I took him upstairs and put him on the bathroom vanity for a thorough examination thinking maybe he played too hard and got injured but all bone and muscles checked without any whimpering. I did notice he stopped panting and shaking. So I checked his gums, he even took some water and then we went back downstairs.

So, I put my Sherlock hat on and looked up some of the causes of shaking and panting on the internet. Heart was listed so I listened with my stethoscope but all was normal. Toxins sounded scary but he’d ingested nothing as I watch them when they’re outside and don’t let them eat things I’m not sure off. I'd ruled out injury and there hadn’t been anything frightening, not that I knew of. I thought a massage might calm him down so I placed him on his back and rubbed his little belly which he seemed to respond too. After he was relaxed I was feeling confident the incident was over.....until a housefly buzzed by. Jake immediately jumps up and hides behind me, starting up the panting and the shaking all over again.   I thought it was weird but dismissed the bug as a coincidence.

So I went out to the kitchen and Jake followed me. All of a sudden a low flyer buzzed by and he ducked as if a kamikaze pilot had zeroed in on him. He scrunched down low and look absolutely petrified.   The clues were undeniable so I had to deduce a fly had terrorized my pup. That’s when I noticed there seemed to be a load of bot flies in the house. I don’t know where they came from because I take the garbage out each morning on the way to the car but regardless, there was about 30 -40 of them on the windows in the living room clinging to the last of the day’s sun.

I got out the swatter and started the annihilation. All the dogs headed for the upstairs not too happy with the swatting. The flies were a bit sluggish so most were direct hits but there were times when they outsmarted me so it was like playing Whack-A-Mole. The darn things fly backwards from a sitting position and have eyes in the back of their head that see the world 360*.

By now the sun had gone down so I knew the trick; turned out all the lights except one area so they would pool there and pick them off like sitting ducks. They seek light, so are easy to corral and picked off in a smaller space. It was whack, wipe and wash. I lost count as the bodies racked up. I used Kleenex to pick up the carnage. Then I had to wash the kill site with soapy water, cleaning the evidence as if a crime had taken place, like a serial killer hiding his tracks. I now sport a new hat, I'm a serial bug killer!

Being inundated with blot flies seems to happen yearly about this time. So, mystery solved on the Jake shake! Something must have happened while I was at work. Maybe one landed on his nose. Or maybe he pounced on one and got buzzed at. Scary noise for a little guy. Hopefully I eradicated the problem but I might have to take him to work with me tomorrow. I can’t have the little guy afraid of his own house if more get in somehow.  He’s sitting on my lap now, fed and content that the house is quiet again. I just love when they need their mom, pressing themselves tight to you for protection. No better feeling in the world than being needed.

So the serial killer reference reminds me that I promised myself to dedicate all my undivided attention to the shop for the summer months and once fall hit, I would then pick up writing on my novel and get it ready to send to the women who offered to help with the editing. I'm telling you this because I won’t be blogging on Saturday’ for a while, dedicating the weekends to my book. Truthfully, Saturdays are so busy there isn't time to get upstairs to post it anyway, such as today...it's 4:00...the first break I've had all day!

The goal is to have the book printed before February so there’s a lot to do. It might be an unrealistic time frame, but that’s my goal so we’ll see how far I get.   So from now on I'll blog Monday to Friday unless something really juicy happens that I just can’t wait to share.

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Chester race week revisited in wool!

8/10/2013

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The gun sounds and they're off!   There's not a sight more colourful than a fleet of sailboats regaled in full spinnaker.   This will be the view at the Chester Yacht club next week.

Race week has been a part of my life for two decades but this year hubby is sitting it out, going back to his roots of puttering with small boats. He's done the Marblehead, St. Pierre Miquelon races and several regattas around the Maritimes but has decided to hang up his big boat sailing for enjoying the smaller craft.

Race week is a younger man's sport anyway. Early mornings, boat prep, long days in the heat or driving rain, getting beaten up by stumbling from port to starboard and back, loosing your balance and tumbling, pulling on ropes, skinning shins and other various boat bites, sunburn and aching bones. And then it's party central every evening with too much drinking, eating, then grabbing some ZZZ's and back at it the next day. Male bonding, salt air and rum soaked sweat...arrrr! Four or fives days of this and one needs a vacation to recover before entering back into a landlubber routine.    This is the first year hubby opted to stay home. I can't say I'm upset as that week was always chaotic, upsetting our rather tranquil lifestyle. There comes a time when every man needs to stop playing hard and live a life that doesn't leave bruises or crippled joints.

A passion for the sea runs in hubby's veins. He's been sailing since a small boy when his father bought him a Flying Junior. His influence is responsible for my love for all things nautical and he actually came up with the name of my company of Encompassing Designs because I started this venture creating compass rose patterns. The name was perfect and grew with me, encompassing all that I would do.

Sue Cunningham did a great job on the Race week design above. The lettering along the top and bottom is the nautical alphabet from A-Z. Sue used a blue plaid with a spec of green for the entire background that pops out the boats.

Below is the compass rose that inspired my company's name. Called "Sunny Day", this was the first in my line of compass rose patterns. I hooked it in basic colours, as is finds from Frenchy's. This picture doesn't do the rug justice as the colours are dull or altered. I've used nautical gold and reds with vibrant blue and a bold teal. The rug is now dulled downd from being my German Shepperd's favorite resting spot and back in the day when this rug was hooked I didn't have the best camera so this poor quality photo is all I have.

Meeting Max started my love for dogs. Before him I was a cat person but he changed me forever. He was beautiful both inside and out. Sweet and gentle and handsome beyond words. I hurt so badly when he died I wanted to crawl in a hole and shut myself off from the world. Many years later Honey helped me heal and the love of poodles began. I still can't look at Max's picture without tears...for many years he was a best friend and companion and he will never be forgotten.

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A bird in the stove is worth two in the bush.....

7/29/2013

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Peek-a-boo, I see you....boy, this place is filthy human....

We had some excitement at the house this morning. Henri was barking, which for a dog might not sound so unusual, but it is for him. He has a rather deep bark that comes off like a squawking duck, very distinctive to match his unique personality, but he's usually the silent one of the four. I kept asking "what's the matter boy?" as he worked to get my attention.

There was a gardener planting next door making a bit of noise, so I assumed, with the doors open, he was hearing him through the screen so I screamed "No!" to quiet him. But that only got the rest of them excited so now they are all chiming in for a musical chorus of chaos and I'm about to loose my mind because my attempts at silencing the four yappers fell on deaf ears. That's strange because usually when I bark they stop so I knew something had to be up.

Henri kept hanging around the wood stove and I checked it out wondering if a squirrel or a mouse was gnawing between the walls again but I couldn't hear anything.   This happens occasionally and I just love it when the scratching starts up in the middle of the night and I'm awakened from a deep sleep to low growling pups worried we are under attack. The sound seems magnified as if we're being invaded by an army hell bent on breaching the wall even though it's probably only a lone mouse nibbling on the studs.

Then in between my shouting and "What's the matter Henri?" there was a brief break of quiet and I heard an ever so soft fluttering coming from inside the wood stove. And then I saw the culprit.  A little brown bird, either a dove or a starling, peeking out from behind the glass window of the stove. It looked at me as if to say, "get me the heck out of here, I took a wrong turn at a fork in the sky and ended up on the wrong side of freedom....what kind of bird cage is this?

So I rushed the pups upstairs and secured them in the bedroom, grabbed the camera and snapped a few shots. He sat very still in a weird pose with his head tilted back as if indignant that I was capturing this embarrassing moment to put on Facebook for all his friends to see.

I opened the front door and propped back the screen with a stool and slowly opened the stove door to set him free. It happened so fast I couldn't get the camera shot of him taking flight. At first he flew to the window and clung to the sill but as I shifted the curtain to take a picture he lifted off again, made a circle around the living room, spied the open front door and flew towards the light and freedom. He went as far as the cable wires and perched facing me. He shook his head as if to say "That turned out well considering I could have been a dog's breakfast!" and then flew off to where birds go.

How exciting for the morning. To begin by rescuing one of nature's little creatures. Good boy to Henri for pointing it out as the bird would have been trapped all day until I returned late this evening. How it got down the chimney I don't know. Maybe he was napping on the edge and fell in? I can't imagine it was done on purpose unless he was adventurous, wondering where the long dark brick tunnel may lead, to some pot of seeds under a rainbow? Anyway, another exciting day in the life of the Little's where Murphy's Law and quirky incidents frequent our humble abode......

How do I get myself in these messes....the wife will say I told you so...

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To hell in a hand basket.....

2/27/2013

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I don't think I looked this graceful when I fell but the chin and glasses show a close resemblance.

I would like to share yesterday with you. It wasn’t extraordinary, just crazy: an accumulation of bad energy leading to a calamity of errors and I've got the wet pants and bruises to prove it.

I’ll set the tale spinning by first setting the stage with the events of the day before. Monday I had to get up at 6:30 to take my two male pups to the Vet’s for the snip at 8:OO. I’m not used to getting up that early, I’m never conscious until about 8:30, but I managed to make it there on time
and after a few hugs and wet kisses I left my babies in strange hands, something that tugged my heart strings all the way home. Having to leave my babies for surgery created a lot of anxiety but I didn’t want them to sense my worry and stress them more than they already were, so I told them they were going on an fun adventure......oh the guilt!

So I drive back home for breakfast to drown my sorrow in bacon, the number one comfort food
on the planet. I love bacon and would eat it every day if not for the cooking mess and the fact that it’ll kill ya. But it worked its magic and I almost forgot to worry until the phone rang just as I was leaving for work. It was the vet office and I knew it had to be something bad. My heart jumped to my throat until I heard the words, “don’t panic, nothing is wrong” (they know me well) but then listened to the surgeon tell me that both of my boys had an elevated ALT liver enzyme and it was best not to proceed with surgery until we fixed it.

The only logical thing to do was have the girls tested as well, to see if they were all effected and if so, then it was a dietary problem. So I took my girls in for the same test and sure enough they all had the elevated count to a greater or lesser degree.   We could rule out toxins...there is nothing in my life that would harm a fly, even my floors are washed with vinegar. As far as we can tell, I’ve been feeding them too rich a diet of protein and not enough carbs. So the plan is to stuff them with potato, rice and veggies, along with meat, for a two week period and then have them retested and hopefully get them neutered. All this took several hours and the morning was now shot. I didn't get to the shop until noon. Sorry to anyone who came by but my hairy kids trump rug hooking. Emergencies happen, and besides, it's not like I'm running a Walmart...it's just a little craft business and sometimes life has bumps that need to be flattened.

Getting the males neurtered is a bit of a panic as the two boys have come into their own and have taken a shining to the girls. Poor Honey and Fiz are sitting on their woowoos pretty much most of the day. I'm doing a lot of monitoring and separating.   It's amazing how insistent the boys can be when they're surged with testosterone.   Luckily it comes and goes so we all get a reprieve but I can’t leave them alone for a second or goodness knows what I’d find when I get home. The two boys would be smoking a cigarette and the girls would be phoning the rape hotline.   I'm just making a joke...I'm not insensative to anyone that has been raped)

So that was my day Monday. Long and tiring and then after a sleepless night I wasn’t in the best shape Tuesday morning and was late for work again. Cooking potatoes and carrots and chicken for the pups wasn’t part of my regular routine so that slowed me down on top of the regular dragging of feet.

So I get to work and the phone rings. I had made up a custom kit for a woman last week who was at the door at 10:00 and waited ½ hour for me to show up. I hadn’t realized she would be there at that time but that doesn’t really matter, I was in the wrong. I should have known better and posted a sign on the door. The woman was wild. Told me so, said she was not a happy camper and it wasn’t the words she used, it was the way they were enunciated. I could see her teeth in my head as she snarled out the words. She then asked if I plan be in on Thursday at 10:00 and I said of course, I always plan to be there, things just happen, and she hung up on me.

Now it was my fault but there are better ways to communicate and being rude isn’t fair. You can get your point across without maiming the receiver. I’m not proud of it, but when people go off on me I sink to a dark place and I wallow there. I can’t just brush it off or let it cascade down my back. It’s a part of me that I don’t like but I guess past experiences have impaired the ability to bounce back as fast as I should.   Defend & Deflect...that should be my motto! No one likes to be treated in a mean way and I let it brow beat me…give it power I shouldn’t. I was wrong to be late, but I am only one person doing the best I can, there was no need to treat me that unkindly.   I got the feeling if I told her something serious had happened, maybe a death or an accident, it wouldn’t have mattered in the least.

So that set my mood for the day and a dark cloud followed me about, waiting for the opportunity to rain down on me. I phoned hubby and he helped talk me into a better place but it was still nagging at me for most of the day, making it difficult to smile and count my blessings. When upset, my entire body slumps like a whipped child and was probably the reason I couldn't lift my leg as high as I should have.

I tripped on the handle of a basket coming out of the closet under the staircase in the shop.   I twisted my foot and bent back the big and second toe in an odd angle. Now footless, I dropped to my knees like a lead brick. Now legless, the top part of my body fell forward and came down on the sharp corner of my desk in the middle of my throat, right in the esophagus area!   Seeing the edge coming toward me in an almost slow motion fall, I braced my right shoulder to take some of
the impact and in the process hit my collar bone pretty hard as well.

As the pain of the fall and the realization of what could have happened hit me I started to cry. I kept swallowing to make sure I was okay, then sat on the floor like a big baby and sobbed my heart out. Funny how a few tears can release every ounce of stress building in your system and open the flood gates to a good old fashioned bawl. My son ran to my side to see if I needed an ambulance but I assured him I would be alright. I was ranting and wailing as I slowly got to my feet while thanking my lucky stars that it wasn’t more serious. I kept swallowing, it felt like I had a ball in there but it was only sore and not damaged.   Luckily I'm not a man with an Adam’s apple or it would have been apple sauce!

So, I limped around the rest of the day, favouring my right knee the most as it sent shoots of pain up my thigh….some sort of nerve quiver. My left knee is just bruised and sore. I was soooooooooo very lucky I’m a tough old bird physically.   To bad the mental part wouldn't follow suit.

So the universe wasn’t through with me yet. You can't dump that much negativity and not expect the boomerang effect. Wallowing will be pummeled with more crap…that’s the law.   I was limping around feeling sorry for myself with an upside-down smile, priming myself for more disaster. I had to work late to get an order out and by 9:00 I was aching, tired, hungry and cranky so I was locking up when an overwhelming urge to sneeze gripped me. I tried to brace my sore body from the force but nothing could soften that blow. I sneezed like I was trying to catapult a dust fragment from the tip of my big toe up and out through my nose, and my full bladder just couldn't handle the assault. So...I peed my pants. How cheery and such a lovely cherry on the sundae of my day!

So I drove home thinking I'd better start smiling or goodness knows what would be waiting for me...not dinner or a warm house that's for sure! So I soaked in an Epsom Salt bath and put on my jammies and made dinner for the hairy kids and me hoping I wouldn't be too stiff in the morning. So I had a bad day and although I'm stiff and sore, I can see the humour in it. I keep saying everyday is an adventure for me....nothing is ever boring! I attract stories like white cat hair on a black dress.

So I think I need to change the hours of shop operation. I find it hard to get there at 10:00 and the stress of keeping people waiting makes it even worse so maybe I’ll change the hours to come by chance between 10-10-30, giving me a half hour extra to get there if needed.    I used to open at 10:30 when I was on 14 Pleasant Street and I don’t know why I changed it so I’ll go back to it and hopefully that will spare folks from waiting and me from being at the end of their wrath when I screw up. Life can be so complicated…..

New Shop Hours Until further notice.....Opening somewhere between 10:00 - 10:30 Monday to Saturday..... closed at 5:00 as always, but I am usually here working late if you want to call after hours.

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The Story of Louis

1/31/2013

2 Comments

Am I crazy or does this look like a paw print???

This picture was taken at midnight. The paw print is made up of the large pad and three toes. The one of the far left is a light part of the stone.

Louis was special right from the start. He was the runt, prone to health problems and had a screwy eye.  I bought him from a breeder in PEI, and the woman deceived me. I drove all the way to the tip of the island to pick up a puppy that wasn't the one in the pictures she sent. I knew the minute I saw him I’d been duped.   This little guy had one small eye and one normal eye, whereas the pup in the pictures was darn near perfect. Maybe someone without an eye phobia wouldn’t have noticed but I did, I zoomed in on it immediately. The breeder admitted she lied but assured me it would open wider as time went on, that sometimes this happens. I wanted to believe her so much I took the puppy home, even though eye thingys made me squeamish. I tell everyone, if you're bleeding to death I can help you, but if you have a hair in your eye, forget it! I’ve always had this problem, don’t know why but I get weak in the knees at the mention of anything to do with the eyes.

I tried to see beyond the deformity but being artistic I see every detail so it as always there staring at me in the face. Miracles do happen though. That little guy tugged on my heart strings, breaking through the eye phobia until it didn’t matter anymore and maybe I loved him more because of it. He was special. He was the most lovable, cuddly, momma’s boy I’d ever had and that was what I needed so we bonded like steel. Maybe I was more protective of him because he had a few problems. I hate to admit it but I had been a bit shallow and Louis taught me to love unconditionally, just as he loved me…goodness knows I’m a fright in the mornings and he never cared.

I can’t explain the connection we shared. There aren’t any words that could relay how I felt. How I know he felt. I was his whole world, literally. He never took his eyes off me. If I tried to leave the house he’d wrap his front paws around my leg, holding me tightly, being dragged toward the door. He would never put himself in a position where he couldn’t see me. If I was making dinner he was in the dining room watching me. When he played with his siblings he’d still watch me and run to me every now and then just to kiss me and then go back to play. If I was upstairs he was there, if I was watching TV he was sitting beside me.  I swear Louis watched entire movies, following the program and barking if ominous music indicated trouble brewing. Every night in bed he would lay in my arms with his head on my shoulder until I drifted off to sleep and then he would move to a spot he found more comfortable. My love for him was beyond any kind of explanation, like a mother’s bond for a child. I think maybe he kindled the same feelings I had for Shane when he was a baby.

Louis was two, Honey was seven and we just got Fiz, short for Fiona, who was around four months. It was a Sunday morning and I was lying on the sofa with all three tucked close in my right arm. My dogs all love one another, can cuddle very close without problems. I looked down and smelled their little heads. They were all sleeping so peacefully. I felt completely happy.  I remember thinking that I was the luckiest person in the world.

Less than four hours later, my world came to a crashing halt. My son Shane and I were outside piling firewood and the dogs were hanging around sniffing and checking out the yard. I took off
my jacket and laid it on the tarp that the firewood was dumped on and they all laid down and watched us work. For some reason, Louis got up and walked over to the pile and Fiz followed her big brother per the usual. They both went directly to a piece of wood, Louis must have seen something move. He sniffed the piece of wood, and then so did Fiz.

Instantly they both ran about ten feet away and started vomiting and squirting out projectile diarrhea simultaneously. Louis was a two year old and Fiz was only four months. It was apparent
they had been bitten by something because their two different sizes would have metabolized an ingested toxin at different rates. Thank goodness my son was there to drive us to the vet clinic. I thought they would both die on the way there. I was in the backseat trying warm them with blankets and keep them breathing. Louis was the worst; he clearly got most of the venom.

That drive was horrible.   I felt so helpless. We made it to the vets, not our normal one, as my vet's answering machine didn’t get turned on for the weekend and I didn’t know their emergency number so I called the closest alternative vet and she agreed to take us.

Louis managed to hold on to the next morning and died shortly after I arrived.  I won’t go into details but it was a horrible death and I am haunted by his suffering. Fiz almost died as well, we were told her heart rate went to 12 beats a minute during the night. Somehow the little mite survived.

Shane and I buried Louis in the backyard. I wrapped him in a piece of linen from the shop and laid him gently in a hole in the garden. The Vet suggested sending his body for an autopsy but I just couldn’t do it. I called the vet college and they said whatever killed him may no longer be detectible and when I asked if I could have his body back they said no. That was the deciding factor. He would be classed a biohazard and would need to be disposed of. That meant throwing his poor little body on the pile with the other dead animals and all of a sudden, the person who had always wanted to be a pathologist, someone who believes that once your spirit is gone the shell is no longer relevant, couldn’t part with his little body. I needed it close.   Even through my grief I knew I was being uncharacteristically foolish but I just didn’t care.  I needed him with me.

We figured they were bitten by a Black Widow spider. They live throughout North America in woodpiles and yes, this far north.   They bite people every year and a healthy adult will survive with minimal effects, but a small child or an older person could succumb. Small dogs don’t have a chance.

My husband was away at the time so I was alone. It was by far the worst time of my life. The pain was so real it crushed me from the shear weight of it. I could barely breath the pain was so
intense. I just wanted to curl up into a ball and die too. I had two other dogs to take care of and somehow managed, but I wasn’t exactly present. Friends came by and brought me food and sat with me but I was inconsolable.   I cried more tears than all my years on this earth combined and as each day passed I seemed to get worst instead of better.

In the meantime my sister had been away on vacation and returned with a rock that she had found on a beach and heard that Louis had died. The rock was shaped like a heart and she asked if I would like to have it for a headstone.  It was perfect and I fully intended to have it engraved at some point. I laid it on the grave with a floral arrangement.

Each night I took the arrangement inside to protect it from the deer and the frost.  To retain the flowers freshness, I set it on a cookie sheet with water to rehydrate the oasis overnight. On day two of his passing, I took the dogs outside for their morning routine and carried the cookie sheet and flowers out to the grave. As I approached, the plot I stared in disbelief. The frost had settled on the rock and left a perfect paw print that had now thawed in the morning sun and left a water mark.  I was standing over it and leaned a bit forward and the water dripped out of the cookie sheet and splashed on the rock wiping out the paw print. I started to bawl like a baby. Mourning the loss of Louis and now loosing this mystical print, this potential sign, a message from beyond? I rushed inside and phoned my husband and told him what had happened. He’s a geologist and I looked for him for an explanation. He had none.

The paw prints came and went over the next few weeks and when hubby returned home he examined the rock thoroughly and could find no hollows or raised parts…the rock was smooth along the top. There was no physical explanation. Then one evening around midnight, I was taking the dogs out for their bedtime pee and shone the flashlight on the rock and found the frost painted print once again. I ran screaming into the house for hubby to see and he took the pictures above. Once again he could offer no explanation.

I suppose the print should have comforted me but the hole left by Louis's absence was too deep and raw.   Even with a husband and two other dogs in the house I continued to feel lonely and cried for months. Inconsolable tears.  I was a mess. That’s when I found myself looking for breeders on the internet. I knew what I was doing, looking for Louis’s face in another puppy or  adult dog. I knew it wouldn’t be the same but I hurt so badly I didn’t know what else to do. I never considered what kind of pressure I’d be putting on a new little guy for filling Louis’s paws would be a tall order. I'm not proud admitting I wasn't in a very good place or thinking rationally.

I found a little cream boy in Ontario that reminded me of Louis when he was a puppy. Hubby said maybe it would help. Poor guy, he didn’t know what to do for me and of course he was grieving too. We bought the new puppy and waited for him to arrive.

Henri was wonderful and we clicked pretty quickly. He had a huge personality. Being a puppy he kept me pretty busy with potty training and being cute and playful. And then, horror or horrors, more tragedy struck. He was with us for only a few weeks when he got Parvo, a deadly killer of puppies. After losing Louis I didn’t think I could bear to lose another one of my precious babies so I parked my grief and concentrated all my energy on Henri.   The Vet geared us up with an IV drip to keep Henri hydrated and I took care of him at home as my vet didn’t have a night facility to monitor sick animals. I wanted him home to inspire healing. I fully believe familiar surroundings work better than locking them in a cage in a sterile environment with only strangers to take care of them.

Parvo is painful as it destroys the puppy’s bowels. Constant bloody diarrhea dehydrates them quickly and is usually the main reason for death. Henri would curl up into a ball and whimper from the pain and it was heartbreaking to watch. His heart raced and his breathing would become labored and hard. Feeling helpless I decided I had to do something so I researched animal acupressure and dog massage on the internet and I practised it several times a day. I laid my hands on him and gently massaged his poor little body and applied acupressure to heal his stomach and bowel area. I seemed to connect with his body instantly, feeling his pulse on my fingertips.

I talked to him softly and told him all the things we would do when he got better. I played nature sounds and opened the windows to let out the negative energy of his sickness. I even smudged the room several times a day to expel any negative energy that might have been taking up residence in the house. I only allowed myself to think he would be healed, and said that over and over, fighting all the terrible thoughts that tried to creep in. I’d read about Parvo on the internet and the chances of him surviving were slim so it took everything I had to remain positive.

When Henri was suffering his little body would curl into a tight ball and when I applied the acupressure, his body would open up like a flower until he was stretched out on his back. His breathing would calm and his heart rate would return to normal. He would then sleep peacefully for a while, allowing his body to heal. This continued for two days. Massaging him hourly, applying acupressure and running the IV. On the third day Henri awoke around ten in the evening, jumped down from the sofa and came to me. He was a bit wobbly but it was apparent he was going to be okay. He licked my hand as if to say thank-you. Relief flooded my heart.

The next day I took him to the doctor to be checked out. He was very surprised and confessed that he believed Henri would die, that there was nothing else we could have done.  He told me that I healed him, that he believed the human touch and positive energy ruled over his sickness. Needless to say, Henri and I bonded over the experience and we became inseparable.

I still cried for my Louis, but it was getting a little easier to get through the day. As long as I was crying that paw print kept showing up. Whether it was frost or morning dew, it was there.  I don’t believe in ghosts but I clung to the idea that it was Louis trying to comfort me. Telling me it was okay to let him go and not be sad. I decided that explanations weren’t needed. Science didn’t need to tell me why the rock was weeping paw prints, I accepted them as the gift they were.   Slowly over time my tears subsided and life started to return to normal. And amazingly, once my tears stopped so did the paw prints on the rock. Hubby and I still can’t explain why…it just did.

The rock is still there but is just a normal piece of slate that happens to be shaped like a heart; a headstone for the most wonderful poodle. Life goes on and you have to love the ones that are here and let the angels fade into memories.  Henri is pretty darn special and we call him Dr. H because he helped to heal my heart. Now we have Jake, number four, and he is very much like Louis was, a cuddly momma’s boy. Henri never seemed to want to cuddle, he was always bothered by overheating with his thick coat of hair. Each of my hairy kids are special in their own way. They all bring something unique to the table and I love them all. I know we live
longer than they do. It isn’t a perfect fit so there will be more tears. They say the price of love is grief and life certainly doesn't come with guarantees. We can be lying on the sofa on top of the world and then, in a nanosecond everything can change.

My favourite picture of Louis, posing on a piece of wool in the shop. He was a miniature but smallish and very fine featured. He had a French whisker..very dapper. You can't make out his smaller eye in this piece..it is the one on the right. The dark hairs around his eye helped to make the actual eye area appear larger.

My favourite picture of Louis as a puppy. In a patch of flowers he appears angelic and gentle, just like he was.

My awesome threesome just before the tragedy. The hooked rug behind them is art imitating life!

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A Pot to Fiz in

1/30/2013

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You've heard of not having a pot to pee in....well this is "we have a pot to Fiz in"
This is our little red girl Fiona, "Fiz" for short. She's a lot bigger now but still cute
as a button! She came from a breeder in the valley.

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My Furry Family

10/25/2012

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Jake - Black toy 1 yr old
Honey - Apricot toy - 9 yrs old
Henri - Cream Miniature - 2 yrs old
Fiz - Red toy - 2 1/2 yrs old

Well, I didn’t crawl into bed until 2.00 am this morning and here I sit practically brain dead.
The house reeks of tripe, for those of you who don’t know what tripe is I’ll try to explain.  Imagine the smell of cow manure mixed with sheep manure and then throw some horse poop on the pile and you pretty much get the drift… I buy tripe in frozen patties and the dogs love it like cats love catnip. The smell drives them crazy and they become little ravenous pigs gobbling it up. Tripe is the contents of the cow’s stomach at slaughter and that might be disgusting for humans but it's the first thing a wild predator eats after the kill. Yum!

I feed my dogs homemade diet. Usually raw or semi cooked and bone. The optimum diet for a dog is 30% organ meat, 60% muscle meat and 10% bone. Dogs are carnivores and wheat is not conducive to their diets although the pet food manufactures seem to feel otherwise. Wheat and byproducts are fillers that don’t serve your dog in any way, shape or form. If you look inside a canine’s mouth you will see sharp teeth for tearing, ripping and crushing, taking down prey and stripping meat from bones. I try to feed my dogs a diet that closely relates what they would eat in the wild. Dogs are scavengers and will eat anything, including another animal’s dung, so although we think our dogs are above this sort of behavior, they’re really just an animal sharing our home. Of course I like to pretend my dogs are the exception to the rule, with above average intelligence and a semblance of culture; after all they dine off of Blue Willow China so elegantly. But then horror of horrors, they go outside, roll in deer poop just to burst my bubble.

We have four babies….I mean dogs. All poodles; three toys and one miniature. Honey, Fiz, Henri and Jake. The oldest is nine and the youngest just turned one. The nine year old doesn’t have one bit of plaque on her teeth, not a hint of discolouration whatsoever and she has never been to the vet for a cleaning. The secret? Bones. Real bones, at least twice a week. We are told not to feed our dogs bones but why? Vets will say that your dog could choke or get a bone shard in their colon. That would be sad but I am willing to take the chance to provide my dogs with an optimum diet. Bone dissolves in the animals gut, like chocolate melts in our hands. In goes bone and out comes a dry, powdery tube with very little smell.   One person said it best. No coyote
ever died from eating a chicken, bones and all. You see it is the cooked bones to avoid, they become brittle and are more apt to splinter but a raw bone is a tough customer. My dogs will take a marrow bone and scrape the insides until the outside wall is wafer thin.  Bones rub against
their teeth and gums and remove tarter buildup while supplying the necessary nutrients to their diets. My dogs are pros, can strip a bone of meat and sinew in minutes.   I like to think if they ever found themselves in the wild, you know, if I had a massive heart attack outdoors in the middle of the night during their before bed pee and they wonder off into the woods, they would be able to hunt and know what to do with their kill. Morbid thoughts I know but it is something I think about being the daughter of a doomsayer, a worry wart who drummed in a potential death scenario for every moment of our childhood. He could have been famous if Hallmark had a need for an "all the bad things that kill you" section in their greeting card line.   So, at times when it’s cold and dark out there I worry about my guys and how they would survive.   Hopefully they would hang around and cuddle with me for warmth but maybe I’d be missing a nose when they find me.........

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Mother's Day Blues......

For the love of dogs.....

Doggie toy box on a budget!

Oh lord....the flies!

Chester race week revisited in wool!

A bird in the stove is worth two in the bush.....

To hell in a hand basket.....

The Story of Louis

A Pot to Fiz in

My Furry Family

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