Yes, I noticed that I made sure my title was grammatically correct. OCD has checked-in for the night!
Anyway, I do wonder what goes through my dogs' brains when they're dreaming. I can look over at the cat who is sound asleep at the moment and she never moves until she wakes up. However, I can watch either Celeste or Harley and sooner or later they'll start to run in their sleep, snore loudly, or sometimes even bark as if they're trying to say something.
Celeste is five years old and has had a lot of experiences with and without me. She was a show dog and has traveled around the country and also worked as a service dog for a lady in a wheelchair (who sadly didn't know how to care for her even though she'd had service dogs before). So, I could see some memories coming back to her mind and perhaps she sees things she remembers.
Harley, on the other hand, has been with us since she was nine months old. She was abandoned and raised for a month at a farm before they took her to the local Humane Society because they couldn't afford to keep another abandoned dog. She's been on trips with us (vehicle only, no planes yet) and has romped around in the yard or at a dog park. Most of her time she's comfortable on the couch and when given the opportunity will watch car races or other dogs running on television. Harley also lived here with my service dog Cody who passed away in 2010. She was there when he died. She also has a lot of his habits and mannerisms because he made sure that he taught her how to act and didn't let her get too out of control.
Cody would snore loudly and run when sleeping too -- but he only came to live with us when he was much older. He had been a puppy mill breeder dog that had been abandoned on the side of the Interstate when he'd gotten to old to make the owners more money. We took him in and even though he had no idea how to play or act like a normal dog, he learned commands quickly and was eager to please because he loved being loved by someone instead of just ignored. And he still had the gumption to put the cat in her place when he came to live with us and she wouldn't shut up one night. He just closed her mouth with his and looked at her as if to say, "See? Quiet is better."
When Cody would snore loudly and move as if he was running when he was asleep, I could always imagine that he was reliving something that had happened before we had him. Maybe it was running away from the handlers at the puppy mill. Maybe it was finally running free when they first got rid of him before he began to struggle to find food and water in the sweltering heat of the summer. I would always hope that his dreams would include meeting us and enjoying a nice walk or just being cuddled.
I'm watching Harley's legs move while she's asleep as if she's running for her life. Maybe there's a rabbit or a squirrel in her dream? She loves to chase them in the yard, though I don't think she'd have any idea what to do with one if she caught it. She's running and running and you can hear her snorting loudly with every "step" she takes. Whatever it is, she's either thoroughly enjoying it or making damned sure that she gets away from whatever she doesn't like.
I know humans put too much emotion into our pets. We talk to them as if they're people and try to read their facial expressions and actions like we do non-verbal communications from other humans. But I think it would be fun if we could see about what our dogs are dreaming. Finally catching the ball; scaring a flock of birds; or maybe just laying on the couch getting their tummy rubbed. Anything could be a fascinating dream for them.
Showing posts with label harley. Show all posts
Showing posts with label harley. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Tired today....
LONG day.... Took Harley to have her yearly "shearing" at the groomer. She grows so much hair during the winter you could almost make enough wigs/toupees for those little hairless dogs. Then they wouldn't get so cold all the time. We also went to our favorite gaming store and sold them a few items for store credit. Just some old books that we didn't like but that their customers will love buying. And the credit can stay there until the next Warhammer 40K tournament or when we need to buy something for someone's birthday, etc.
Also started shopping for a new phone since mine is having battery issues. I first went to a store run by the company with whom I have my service. They said that they don't make stupidphones anymore. I said that I knew he was lying because (1) I'd seen an ad for one and (2) there were some hanging on the wall in the store. He, of course, wanted to show me every smartphone in the place but I told him I wasn't going to pay a bunch more per month for the privilege of having a phone that can do a lot of things I can't afford for it to do nor would I use it for them. I guess I should have also taken a photo (the one "fancy" thing my stupidphone can do) of all of the basic phones we saw at a large electronics retailer in town as well. And if I wanted a smartphone I could get it there for even less than the service company was advertising! But, no, I did not replace my beloved stupidphone.
When Harley's grooming appointment was over, we went to pick her up and I asked the groomer to grind Celeste's nails so that I won't have to clip them for a bit. Celeste was a show dog before she became a service dog but you would have thought that no one had ever touched her feet before when she started trying to escape from the groomer. Fortunately, the lady had a great attitude and just chased her around the grooming table, keeping one paw in her hand at all times, and got it done. Another of the ladies working there asked me if she could know why I have Celeste and when I told her she was thrilled to hear someone else has a service dog for psychiatric issues. I gave her my name and number and the name and number of Celeste's breeder/trainer because the lady and her husband are trying to get a service dog for him to use. I wish them the best of luck because I know that Celeste has helped me more than I could have imagined!
Hopefully tomorrow will be relaxing. I know Husband can use a nice relaxing day after working hard all week. And Youngest Son is now home from school so I'll find plenty of chores/activities for him to complete!
Also started shopping for a new phone since mine is having battery issues. I first went to a store run by the company with whom I have my service. They said that they don't make stupidphones anymore. I said that I knew he was lying because (1) I'd seen an ad for one and (2) there were some hanging on the wall in the store. He, of course, wanted to show me every smartphone in the place but I told him I wasn't going to pay a bunch more per month for the privilege of having a phone that can do a lot of things I can't afford for it to do nor would I use it for them. I guess I should have also taken a photo (the one "fancy" thing my stupidphone can do) of all of the basic phones we saw at a large electronics retailer in town as well. And if I wanted a smartphone I could get it there for even less than the service company was advertising! But, no, I did not replace my beloved stupidphone.
When Harley's grooming appointment was over, we went to pick her up and I asked the groomer to grind Celeste's nails so that I won't have to clip them for a bit. Celeste was a show dog before she became a service dog but you would have thought that no one had ever touched her feet before when she started trying to escape from the groomer. Fortunately, the lady had a great attitude and just chased her around the grooming table, keeping one paw in her hand at all times, and got it done. Another of the ladies working there asked me if she could know why I have Celeste and when I told her she was thrilled to hear someone else has a service dog for psychiatric issues. I gave her my name and number and the name and number of Celeste's breeder/trainer because the lady and her husband are trying to get a service dog for him to use. I wish them the best of luck because I know that Celeste has helped me more than I could have imagined!
Hopefully tomorrow will be relaxing. I know Husband can use a nice relaxing day after working hard all week. And Youngest Son is now home from school so I'll find plenty of chores/activities for him to complete!
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Good riddance, Petland!!!
I'm feeling much better today, so I don't think I'll be ripping my own head off anytime soon as was considered yesterday. I did take some medication, put ice on my head, and took a long nap until Husband and Youngest Son got home from work and school, respectively. I was hoping yesterday that today's weather would be good and I was surprised. It's not only good today, it's awesome! So nice and just the right temperature with just a hint of a breeze to make you feel like springtime is here.
Today we went and took Harley to the groomers at SetPmart. She needed a bath and her nails ground again. I clip them often but it's much nicer after they've ground them down with the Dremel tool because she's much quieter on the hardwood floors. I know Cat doesn't like it because Harley can sneak up on her, but I find it enjoyable. We decided that since there was still the chance of cold weather in this area for the next few weeks we wouldn't get her "Spring Shave" done until the weather stays warmer for a while. Now because she's part poodle, she's all fluffy and "poofy" but still has the schnauzer face. I know it won't last because she's not a girly dog and has already attempted to roll in something unpleasant in the backyard already.
One thing I was very glad to see in the town we visited is that another pet store -- Petland -- has gone out of business. They're notorious for selling dogs from puppy mills and even though they'll tell you they don't it's so obvious they do. I went into that store once when Cody (my previous service dog) was getting older and thought about self-training another sheltie to take-over his job (that's before the state laws were changed and you could train your own service dog). I'd been to the shelters and pounds and Humane Society kennels and hadn't found a sheltie. I thought, just for giggles, I'd go into Petland and see what they had. They were stocked with all of the designer dogs and purebred puppies everyone has been trying to get their hands on. So many kids were sitting in the little "viewing boxes" where they could play with a puppy while their parents sat there and listened to the kid promise and promise to take care of it every day as they were actually trying to decide how to finance the cost of the dog because, being a designer dog, they were very expensive.
I looked around and finally one of the underpaid worker-drones came up and asked if there was something specific for which I was looking. I said that I was looking for a sheltie because my current service dog was getting ready to retire and I wanted to have another of the same breed so that they would bond and the new one could learn quickly from the old one. She said that they didn't have any there that day. I feigned disappointment (I knew about the company and wasn't going to buy one of their dogs anyway) and thanked her for her help. She told me to wait a moment and ran off to the back room. She quickly came back with a piece of paper that said if I paid $1000 that day I could have a sheltie puppy in a week.
What?? No reputable breeder is going to just happen to have new puppies available johnny-on-the-spot. The only way you get what you want, when you want is when you use a vending machine -- and that's just what puppy mills are like. They cram dogs into small wire cages and breed the heck out of them. Then when they're no good for breeding or have gotten older, they dump them or, usually, kill them. Puppy mill dogs are so inbred they have many diseases and deformities that aren't identified to the new owners who take their lovely/expensive new puppy home and watch it begin to get sicker and sicker, if it doesn't just up and die first.
Cody was a rescued puppy mill dog. They used him as a breeder and dumped him when he got older. You could tell he'd never had human contact. Food was just pushed into a cage and if it stayed there he could eat and if it spilled that was too bad for him. He had no idea how to play. You could roll a ball towards him and he'd either look at it as if it was something amazing or he'd run and hide. When we got him after he'd been dumped, they'd shaved all of his beautiful long fur off except for his head and tail. Many puppy mills will do that so they don't have to worry about the dogs' coats getting matted or caught in a cage if they're a profit-making dog. If they're just one of the many waiting to be sold, they often don't care what happens.
I told the Petland clerk that I was not interested in a puppy mill dog and she became quite angry that I would even suggest that their dogs came from puppy mills. I told her that I'd reconsider my opinion if she would provide me with the name and phone number of the breeder so that I could check him/her out and see what types of reports might have been filed by other puppy owners from their dams and sires. She said she couldn't give me the information because I might go to the breeder and just buy the dog myself there instead of through the store. I asked for just the name of the breeder so I could check with the AKC (American Kennel Club) and the Department of Agriculture (that inspects breeders) to make sure I'd be getting a healthy dog. The clerk adamantly told me that she could not give me that information and that my puppy would be healthy because they have a vet on-staff (next door) who checks all of the puppies as they come into the store.
Sure, I'm going to trust a veterinarian that I've never met; never seen references regarding; and who isn't always there at that store to check-over an animal that the company plans to make a large profit on and believe that they're not being pressured to say everything is okey-dokey. I even went back to the vet's office and couldn't get any specific information on the vet, where he/she went to school, their specialties, etc.
After this encounter I saw reports on the news about Petland and how many groups were protesting their sale of puppy mill dogs. The state where I live is one of the largest puppy mill "sanctuaries" because people don't report the owners of the puppy mills and, if you did try to report them, they have no problem showing you by force (usually through the end of a firearm) that they don't want you messing in their business. There are many veterinarians in and near the town in which I live that I researched before I ever took my pets to one when we moved here that had many, MANY bad references and notices online for dealing with puppy mill dogs and signing health certificates of dogs that were transported across the country to new owners -- only to have the puppy become critically ill or die soon after arrival.
I am SO happy that Petland is closed. Okay, yes, if people want to argue about it, it's not good that there are workers from the store who now don't have jobs in this poor economy. But, I usually do research on any company/organization with whom I'm applying for a job, so if I knew that Petland was marketing in puppy mill dogs, I'd never work there. I'd rather work somewhere else for less pay than to watch the dogs suffer as they come in, aren't well, and are handled repeatedly by people who are "just looking" and can't really give the dog a forever home. Heck, I'd work part-time for minimum wage at the local pound or shelter before I'd take a full-time higher-paying job at a store like Petland. What kills me is that the website for this particular store is still up and the parent company is still taking "special orders" and operating out of another town. They had said they were closed for remodeling. Guess it was to remodel their way the heck out-of-town.
As I walked into SetPmart to pick up Harley from her beauty appointment, I took a moment and looked at the dogs and cats inside and outside the store that three different shelters had brought in hopes that they would be adopted. I saw many families looking at the dogs and playing with them. The puppies were obviously the most popular ones but I saw a few looking at some of the older dogs and even overheard one family saying they wanted to adopt an older dog because it wouldn't chew-up the house and they wanted to give it the best last years it could have. I smiled and looked down at Celeste who was staring at me as if to say, "You already have another pest in the house. You don't need any more." I scratched her ears and smiled at the shelter personnel and the families there. True, when Celeste's time comes to retire I'll have to have another certified service dog and will 99% get one from the breeder/trainer where I got Celeste. But when Harley's old and gray and her time here on earth is over, I'll definitely be back at the shelter. And whether it's a puppy or a senior dog, it doesn't matter. Shelter animals love you even more because they know that you've just saved their life and they'll do anything to make yours happy and safe.
Today we went and took Harley to the groomers at SetPmart. She needed a bath and her nails ground again. I clip them often but it's much nicer after they've ground them down with the Dremel tool because she's much quieter on the hardwood floors. I know Cat doesn't like it because Harley can sneak up on her, but I find it enjoyable. We decided that since there was still the chance of cold weather in this area for the next few weeks we wouldn't get her "Spring Shave" done until the weather stays warmer for a while. Now because she's part poodle, she's all fluffy and "poofy" but still has the schnauzer face. I know it won't last because she's not a girly dog and has already attempted to roll in something unpleasant in the backyard already.
One thing I was very glad to see in the town we visited is that another pet store -- Petland -- has gone out of business. They're notorious for selling dogs from puppy mills and even though they'll tell you they don't it's so obvious they do. I went into that store once when Cody (my previous service dog) was getting older and thought about self-training another sheltie to take-over his job (that's before the state laws were changed and you could train your own service dog). I'd been to the shelters and pounds and Humane Society kennels and hadn't found a sheltie. I thought, just for giggles, I'd go into Petland and see what they had. They were stocked with all of the designer dogs and purebred puppies everyone has been trying to get their hands on. So many kids were sitting in the little "viewing boxes" where they could play with a puppy while their parents sat there and listened to the kid promise and promise to take care of it every day as they were actually trying to decide how to finance the cost of the dog because, being a designer dog, they were very expensive.
I looked around and finally one of the underpaid worker-drones came up and asked if there was something specific for which I was looking. I said that I was looking for a sheltie because my current service dog was getting ready to retire and I wanted to have another of the same breed so that they would bond and the new one could learn quickly from the old one. She said that they didn't have any there that day. I feigned disappointment (I knew about the company and wasn't going to buy one of their dogs anyway) and thanked her for her help. She told me to wait a moment and ran off to the back room. She quickly came back with a piece of paper that said if I paid $1000 that day I could have a sheltie puppy in a week.
What?? No reputable breeder is going to just happen to have new puppies available johnny-on-the-spot. The only way you get what you want, when you want is when you use a vending machine -- and that's just what puppy mills are like. They cram dogs into small wire cages and breed the heck out of them. Then when they're no good for breeding or have gotten older, they dump them or, usually, kill them. Puppy mill dogs are so inbred they have many diseases and deformities that aren't identified to the new owners who take their lovely/expensive new puppy home and watch it begin to get sicker and sicker, if it doesn't just up and die first.
Cody was a rescued puppy mill dog. They used him as a breeder and dumped him when he got older. You could tell he'd never had human contact. Food was just pushed into a cage and if it stayed there he could eat and if it spilled that was too bad for him. He had no idea how to play. You could roll a ball towards him and he'd either look at it as if it was something amazing or he'd run and hide. When we got him after he'd been dumped, they'd shaved all of his beautiful long fur off except for his head and tail. Many puppy mills will do that so they don't have to worry about the dogs' coats getting matted or caught in a cage if they're a profit-making dog. If they're just one of the many waiting to be sold, they often don't care what happens.
I told the Petland clerk that I was not interested in a puppy mill dog and she became quite angry that I would even suggest that their dogs came from puppy mills. I told her that I'd reconsider my opinion if she would provide me with the name and phone number of the breeder so that I could check him/her out and see what types of reports might have been filed by other puppy owners from their dams and sires. She said she couldn't give me the information because I might go to the breeder and just buy the dog myself there instead of through the store. I asked for just the name of the breeder so I could check with the AKC (American Kennel Club) and the Department of Agriculture (that inspects breeders) to make sure I'd be getting a healthy dog. The clerk adamantly told me that she could not give me that information and that my puppy would be healthy because they have a vet on-staff (next door) who checks all of the puppies as they come into the store.
Sure, I'm going to trust a veterinarian that I've never met; never seen references regarding; and who isn't always there at that store to check-over an animal that the company plans to make a large profit on and believe that they're not being pressured to say everything is okey-dokey. I even went back to the vet's office and couldn't get any specific information on the vet, where he/she went to school, their specialties, etc.
After this encounter I saw reports on the news about Petland and how many groups were protesting their sale of puppy mill dogs. The state where I live is one of the largest puppy mill "sanctuaries" because people don't report the owners of the puppy mills and, if you did try to report them, they have no problem showing you by force (usually through the end of a firearm) that they don't want you messing in their business. There are many veterinarians in and near the town in which I live that I researched before I ever took my pets to one when we moved here that had many, MANY bad references and notices online for dealing with puppy mill dogs and signing health certificates of dogs that were transported across the country to new owners -- only to have the puppy become critically ill or die soon after arrival.
I am SO happy that Petland is closed. Okay, yes, if people want to argue about it, it's not good that there are workers from the store who now don't have jobs in this poor economy. But, I usually do research on any company/organization with whom I'm applying for a job, so if I knew that Petland was marketing in puppy mill dogs, I'd never work there. I'd rather work somewhere else for less pay than to watch the dogs suffer as they come in, aren't well, and are handled repeatedly by people who are "just looking" and can't really give the dog a forever home. Heck, I'd work part-time for minimum wage at the local pound or shelter before I'd take a full-time higher-paying job at a store like Petland. What kills me is that the website for this particular store is still up and the parent company is still taking "special orders" and operating out of another town. They had said they were closed for remodeling. Guess it was to remodel their way the heck out-of-town.
As I walked into SetPmart to pick up Harley from her beauty appointment, I took a moment and looked at the dogs and cats inside and outside the store that three different shelters had brought in hopes that they would be adopted. I saw many families looking at the dogs and playing with them. The puppies were obviously the most popular ones but I saw a few looking at some of the older dogs and even overheard one family saying they wanted to adopt an older dog because it wouldn't chew-up the house and they wanted to give it the best last years it could have. I smiled and looked down at Celeste who was staring at me as if to say, "You already have another pest in the house. You don't need any more." I scratched her ears and smiled at the shelter personnel and the families there. True, when Celeste's time comes to retire I'll have to have another certified service dog and will 99% get one from the breeder/trainer where I got Celeste. But when Harley's old and gray and her time here on earth is over, I'll definitely be back at the shelter. And whether it's a puppy or a senior dog, it doesn't matter. Shelter animals love you even more because they know that you've just saved their life and they'll do anything to make yours happy and safe.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Same info, different day - The continuing rant
Well, now that my eyes are working again I can get back to the rant I so wanted to start yesterday but had problems seeing my own fingers, much less the keyboard or the monitor.
Let's catch everyone up in the ongoing saga. A few posts back I related the story of what's been happening recently regarding my vision and the lack thereof. I've seen my optometrist; been referred to a glaucoma specialist; been referred to a retinal specialist; have had multiple versions of two different tests taken at each appointment; and was finally being referred to a neuro-ophthalmologist at a large, prestigious college/hospital across the state from me in order to determine what in the heck is happening. Yesterday, Husband and I drove three hours so I could have the scans and exams needed to identify the problem. I'd been advised that it would take a minimum of three hours for everything and readied myself for being shoved into large machines to determine what, if anything, is in there with my eyes and my brain that could be causing the problem.
After arriving at the doctor's office, I was quickly ushered back to a room where a technician asked me a lot of questions about my past medical history and asked me to read letters on the eye chart with my glasses on because my new prescription isn't correcting me to 20/20 (which is what got this whole thing started). She then had me stare at a notepad with a grid on it and asked me to describe what the lines looked like. With one eye I could only see half of the grid and with the other it looked like the lines were wavy and my brain was trying to make sense of it and I started seeing boxes "popping-up" from the page. She looked at me and scribbled notes on her paper. She gave me a color-vision test, which I'm pretty sure I passed easily other than perhaps mistaking a "6" for an "8" because those dots are so small. She asked me more questions, dilated my eyes, and checked the pressure inside of them. It was normal, as I could have told her. In fact, it was lower than it's been in the past few exams.
Then, and here's where I started to get irritated, she asked me why I was there. I told her it was because I was referred by a retinal specialist who said he couldn't help me because a glaucoma specialist said I didn't have glaucoma and that I should see said retinal specialist and that his office was to have emailed my files to this doctor who is part of the same practice and if they needed the files they could go down the hallway to get them. She nodded and wrote more information down on her paper and finally looked in the computer and found the notes from the retinal specialist. She asked me to go out into the smaller waiting room and wait for the doctor.
Celeste was with me (of course) and we made our way to a small seating area to wait. Upon arriving at the seating area, a large African-American woman began to jump up-and-down and grab everything she owned and kept repeating, "It's a dog! It's a dog!" Great....the last thing I needed....someone to cause a scene because my service dog is with me and they don't like them. I calmly replied to the lady that, yes, she is a dog but that she's a trained service dog and would not bother her. The woman continued to try to find a seat -- any seat -- near where her stuff was but not close to us. She nearly sat on two other ladies patiently waiting their turn or for someone who was being seen. She continued to protest loudly that she didn't like dogs and that there was a dog near her and she didn't like it. I had already scanned the room with what vision I had after my eyes were fully dilated and saw no other vacant seats except the one I chose which also gave Celeste a small area to lay down so that should would be out of the main flow of traffic. I sat down and said, in as polite of a voice as I could muster by this time, that Celeste would not come near her and would stay under my seat by my feet. This did nothing to appease the woman who began to tell me that I couldn't sit with the dog and continued to make a scene. Finally, and I know I shouldn't have, I replied, "Look! If you'd sit down and shut up, she wouldn't pay any attention to you because she is trained to keep her focus on me! Your tantrum is actually putting me in danger because she thinks you could be a threat and is now not paying attention to me as she is supposed to. Be quiet and don't look at her!" The other ladies in the seating area giggled under their breath but I know it wasn't the most polite thing to do. The woman sat down and tried to become one with the arm of the chair farthest from us and Celeste quickly crossed her front paws and put her head down to rest.
The doctor soon called me to come back and be seen and Celeste and I left the seating area, still hearing slight giggles from the other ladies and hearing more protests from the woman who believes dogs shouldn't be allowed wherever she is. He was a nice gentleman and asked a lot of questions about my past visual history (which isn't good) and he performed some basic visual field tests. I'm so tired of having to look at someone's nose and tell them when I can see their fingers and how many they're holding up. I could almost give lessons on how to fake it because they all use the same pattern and the same number of fingers on each test. But, I'm desperate for answers and I tried really hard to stare at his nose and not look around for his fingers and made myself wait until I could actually see them before answering. I didn't get some of them right. Sometimes I thought there was only one but he was actually holding two. That was depressing.
He said he wanted to do a specialized visual field test that would better determine my peripheral vision. I asked if it meant sticking my head into the large, white, fish-bowl like structure and clicking when I saw dots of light appear on it and he said it was. I sighed because I knew it was going to be another one of the same tests I'd just done back in January and in February. I told him I'd had those tests before and even referred him to the large stack of papers I was given that had their results. He said he wanted to do this "different" version because it worked more on my peripheral vision instead of my entire field of vision. I walked back to the waiting area and blindly tried to find an empty seat FAR away from the woman who was still upset from our previous encounter.
The doctor's technician came and got me and we went to do the test. The difference between this test and the others I'd taken was that she manually controlled the dot of light and I had a washer in my hand and was supposed to tap it on the table when I could see the light. She kept reminding me to tap the washer and I said that when she turned the light on I would. We both realized that she was using a light too small and faint for me to see. So, she changed the size and intensity of the light often and I clicked the washer on the table whenever I could see the dot. It's very hard to keep yourself from looking around in the dome because you want to see the light or verify that you saw what you thought you saw. When the test is done by the computer, it registers if you look away from the target area. This one didn't and I hope I did it correctly. One bad thing about it was that my eyes were dilated and the bright lights kept creating shadows that made it harder to see each new light. Like when you stare at the sun or have a flashlight shown in your eyes and then you can't get that annoying spot out of your vision? Yup, it's like that but with dozens of those spots and new ones being created every second.
I finished the test and was led back to the seating area. This time I wasn't seated near the lady who hated dogs but ended up next to a family that thought Celeste was for show-and-tell. They wanted to pet her but weren't sure if I would let them (I could overhear this conversation as they thought they were whispering but also believed she was a guide dog which would automatically make me blind and deaf) and were quite shocked when I looked at them and told them they couldn't. Then they wanted to ask me why I had her if I could see and what my medical condition was. No questions about her and what she does -- just very personal questions about me and my history. I was very pleased that the doctor called me back to his exam room so I could get away from them.
I put Celeste back into the corner of the room and sat down to await the result and find out what is causing all of my problems. He said that I did well on the test and actually did better than he thought I would and that it all must be in my head. My jaw dropped when I heard this. I explained calmly (because by this point I was so stunned at what I'd just heard repeated for the umpteenth time that I wanted to scream) that ever since I was 19 and started having to wear bifocals and was first diagnosed with lattice degeneration that I've been hearing that "it's all in my head." I asked him why I can't see at night unless something is brightly illuminated. He said he didn't know but that if I was worried about it and was afraid to drive at night to not do it. I asked him why I'm having problems seeing items in my visual periphery and why my vision can't be corrected to better than 20/50. He said he didn't know but that his specialized test (done by a human, not a computer, remember) said I should be fine. I then asked again why even during the daytime when I'm driving I can't read the road signs and have to guess at what they're saying and that I use my GPS everywhere I go because it sits closer to me and I can read the street names on it because I can't read the road signs. Again, he said he didn't know but that if I was concerned about driving I shouldn't do it. I asked him if there were any answers he could give me and he said that when I went back to my glaucoma specialist that I should tell him all of this.
What??? By now I was between numb and furious and those two feelings kept changing back-and-forth quickly within me. I told him that I wasn't going to be seeing the glaucoma specialist anymore because I don't have glaucoma and that's why I was referred to the retinal specialist who looked at my eyes and said he couldn't do anything for me either. The doctor said that the retinal specialist (who is a part of the same practice, remember) wasn't known for taking very good notes and didn't really send much info to go on regarding what he thought about my eyes.
I thought I was going to scream. Really scream. I could not believe that I was hearing the same old line -- "It's all in your head." I even told him that if it was "in my head" and I was making it up I could most certainly think of a lot of better things to dream-up than this.
He finally decided that I need to have an MRI and an ERG (electroretinogram -- basically a big word for a test to determine which parts of my retina actually work) because I could be one of the few with normal-looking eyes but who actually has a problem. Normal? When I was in my early-twenties I had a doctor looking at retinal photos who thought he'd entered the wrong room because I was sitting there and he said that the photos looked like the retinas of an 80-year-old. But, at least now he'd decided that the big tests (which is the whole reason I was referred there) needed to be done. But he couldn't do them. Not that day, anyway. The person who ran the ERG machine was out and I'd have to come back.
After three hours in the doctor's office, I went home with nothing. I was told that the purpose of that visit was for me to have the MRI and ERG and figure out what was wrong and to expect to be there at a minimum of three hours for all of it. Husband took the whole day off work so that he could drive me there and back and hopefully get some answers. Nope. Nothing. The doctor's office is supposed to call me back today (maybe) to schedule another appointment for the tests I was expecting to have done yesterday.
When we were in the elevator of the parking garage and finally had some privacy I told Husband what the doctor had said, followed by a sharp expletive that I won't reprint here. I'd stamped my foot and said it loud enough without realizing that we were arriving at the level where we'd parked that I startled someone waiting to use the elevator. I apologized and we mad our way to the car. I cried on the way home. Husband is very understanding and has been constantly reminding me that whatever is wrong we'll deal with and that he'll always be there to help take care of me. I thanked him again and again but couldn't stop crying because I was so frustrated. I'd just been told the exact same thing by a doctor -- supposedly one of the best in the field nationwide (and will probably cost me a fortune) -- that I'd been told over and over again.
Today both Celeste and Harley can tell I'm upset. I'm sitting and waiting for a phone call that may or may not come to schedule an appointment for me to go all the way back and maybe, just maybe, finally get some concrete information. Something....anything.....information so I don't have to keep my life on pause while I'm worried just what I'll do as this continues to worsen and worry about what my last vision could be.
So, there you have it. Either I'm going blind from a mysterious cause that no one can diagnose or I'm bat-crap crazy and my brain is telling me I can't see things that I really can, which is an incredibly stupid thing for it to do since I need my vision to continue designing for the theatre (which I enjoy) and, more importantly, so I can work to pay-off all the bills I'm racking-up (which isn't as enjoyable but needs to be done). Oh well....I guess the standard "SSDD" (I'll let you look up what that usually stands for) idiom is certainly alive and well in my world.
Let's catch everyone up in the ongoing saga. A few posts back I related the story of what's been happening recently regarding my vision and the lack thereof. I've seen my optometrist; been referred to a glaucoma specialist; been referred to a retinal specialist; have had multiple versions of two different tests taken at each appointment; and was finally being referred to a neuro-ophthalmologist at a large, prestigious college/hospital across the state from me in order to determine what in the heck is happening. Yesterday, Husband and I drove three hours so I could have the scans and exams needed to identify the problem. I'd been advised that it would take a minimum of three hours for everything and readied myself for being shoved into large machines to determine what, if anything, is in there with my eyes and my brain that could be causing the problem.
After arriving at the doctor's office, I was quickly ushered back to a room where a technician asked me a lot of questions about my past medical history and asked me to read letters on the eye chart with my glasses on because my new prescription isn't correcting me to 20/20 (which is what got this whole thing started). She then had me stare at a notepad with a grid on it and asked me to describe what the lines looked like. With one eye I could only see half of the grid and with the other it looked like the lines were wavy and my brain was trying to make sense of it and I started seeing boxes "popping-up" from the page. She looked at me and scribbled notes on her paper. She gave me a color-vision test, which I'm pretty sure I passed easily other than perhaps mistaking a "6" for an "8" because those dots are so small. She asked me more questions, dilated my eyes, and checked the pressure inside of them. It was normal, as I could have told her. In fact, it was lower than it's been in the past few exams.
Then, and here's where I started to get irritated, she asked me why I was there. I told her it was because I was referred by a retinal specialist who said he couldn't help me because a glaucoma specialist said I didn't have glaucoma and that I should see said retinal specialist and that his office was to have emailed my files to this doctor who is part of the same practice and if they needed the files they could go down the hallway to get them. She nodded and wrote more information down on her paper and finally looked in the computer and found the notes from the retinal specialist. She asked me to go out into the smaller waiting room and wait for the doctor.
Celeste was with me (of course) and we made our way to a small seating area to wait. Upon arriving at the seating area, a large African-American woman began to jump up-and-down and grab everything she owned and kept repeating, "It's a dog! It's a dog!" Great....the last thing I needed....someone to cause a scene because my service dog is with me and they don't like them. I calmly replied to the lady that, yes, she is a dog but that she's a trained service dog and would not bother her. The woman continued to try to find a seat -- any seat -- near where her stuff was but not close to us. She nearly sat on two other ladies patiently waiting their turn or for someone who was being seen. She continued to protest loudly that she didn't like dogs and that there was a dog near her and she didn't like it. I had already scanned the room with what vision I had after my eyes were fully dilated and saw no other vacant seats except the one I chose which also gave Celeste a small area to lay down so that should would be out of the main flow of traffic. I sat down and said, in as polite of a voice as I could muster by this time, that Celeste would not come near her and would stay under my seat by my feet. This did nothing to appease the woman who began to tell me that I couldn't sit with the dog and continued to make a scene. Finally, and I know I shouldn't have, I replied, "Look! If you'd sit down and shut up, she wouldn't pay any attention to you because she is trained to keep her focus on me! Your tantrum is actually putting me in danger because she thinks you could be a threat and is now not paying attention to me as she is supposed to. Be quiet and don't look at her!" The other ladies in the seating area giggled under their breath but I know it wasn't the most polite thing to do. The woman sat down and tried to become one with the arm of the chair farthest from us and Celeste quickly crossed her front paws and put her head down to rest.
The doctor soon called me to come back and be seen and Celeste and I left the seating area, still hearing slight giggles from the other ladies and hearing more protests from the woman who believes dogs shouldn't be allowed wherever she is. He was a nice gentleman and asked a lot of questions about my past visual history (which isn't good) and he performed some basic visual field tests. I'm so tired of having to look at someone's nose and tell them when I can see their fingers and how many they're holding up. I could almost give lessons on how to fake it because they all use the same pattern and the same number of fingers on each test. But, I'm desperate for answers and I tried really hard to stare at his nose and not look around for his fingers and made myself wait until I could actually see them before answering. I didn't get some of them right. Sometimes I thought there was only one but he was actually holding two. That was depressing.
He said he wanted to do a specialized visual field test that would better determine my peripheral vision. I asked if it meant sticking my head into the large, white, fish-bowl like structure and clicking when I saw dots of light appear on it and he said it was. I sighed because I knew it was going to be another one of the same tests I'd just done back in January and in February. I told him I'd had those tests before and even referred him to the large stack of papers I was given that had their results. He said he wanted to do this "different" version because it worked more on my peripheral vision instead of my entire field of vision. I walked back to the waiting area and blindly tried to find an empty seat FAR away from the woman who was still upset from our previous encounter.
The doctor's technician came and got me and we went to do the test. The difference between this test and the others I'd taken was that she manually controlled the dot of light and I had a washer in my hand and was supposed to tap it on the table when I could see the light. She kept reminding me to tap the washer and I said that when she turned the light on I would. We both realized that she was using a light too small and faint for me to see. So, she changed the size and intensity of the light often and I clicked the washer on the table whenever I could see the dot. It's very hard to keep yourself from looking around in the dome because you want to see the light or verify that you saw what you thought you saw. When the test is done by the computer, it registers if you look away from the target area. This one didn't and I hope I did it correctly. One bad thing about it was that my eyes were dilated and the bright lights kept creating shadows that made it harder to see each new light. Like when you stare at the sun or have a flashlight shown in your eyes and then you can't get that annoying spot out of your vision? Yup, it's like that but with dozens of those spots and new ones being created every second.
I finished the test and was led back to the seating area. This time I wasn't seated near the lady who hated dogs but ended up next to a family that thought Celeste was for show-and-tell. They wanted to pet her but weren't sure if I would let them (I could overhear this conversation as they thought they were whispering but also believed she was a guide dog which would automatically make me blind and deaf) and were quite shocked when I looked at them and told them they couldn't. Then they wanted to ask me why I had her if I could see and what my medical condition was. No questions about her and what she does -- just very personal questions about me and my history. I was very pleased that the doctor called me back to his exam room so I could get away from them.
I put Celeste back into the corner of the room and sat down to await the result and find out what is causing all of my problems. He said that I did well on the test and actually did better than he thought I would and that it all must be in my head. My jaw dropped when I heard this. I explained calmly (because by this point I was so stunned at what I'd just heard repeated for the umpteenth time that I wanted to scream) that ever since I was 19 and started having to wear bifocals and was first diagnosed with lattice degeneration that I've been hearing that "it's all in my head." I asked him why I can't see at night unless something is brightly illuminated. He said he didn't know but that if I was worried about it and was afraid to drive at night to not do it. I asked him why I'm having problems seeing items in my visual periphery and why my vision can't be corrected to better than 20/50. He said he didn't know but that his specialized test (done by a human, not a computer, remember) said I should be fine. I then asked again why even during the daytime when I'm driving I can't read the road signs and have to guess at what they're saying and that I use my GPS everywhere I go because it sits closer to me and I can read the street names on it because I can't read the road signs. Again, he said he didn't know but that if I was concerned about driving I shouldn't do it. I asked him if there were any answers he could give me and he said that when I went back to my glaucoma specialist that I should tell him all of this.
What??? By now I was between numb and furious and those two feelings kept changing back-and-forth quickly within me. I told him that I wasn't going to be seeing the glaucoma specialist anymore because I don't have glaucoma and that's why I was referred to the retinal specialist who looked at my eyes and said he couldn't do anything for me either. The doctor said that the retinal specialist (who is a part of the same practice, remember) wasn't known for taking very good notes and didn't really send much info to go on regarding what he thought about my eyes.
I thought I was going to scream. Really scream. I could not believe that I was hearing the same old line -- "It's all in your head." I even told him that if it was "in my head" and I was making it up I could most certainly think of a lot of better things to dream-up than this.
He finally decided that I need to have an MRI and an ERG (electroretinogram -- basically a big word for a test to determine which parts of my retina actually work) because I could be one of the few with normal-looking eyes but who actually has a problem. Normal? When I was in my early-twenties I had a doctor looking at retinal photos who thought he'd entered the wrong room because I was sitting there and he said that the photos looked like the retinas of an 80-year-old. But, at least now he'd decided that the big tests (which is the whole reason I was referred there) needed to be done. But he couldn't do them. Not that day, anyway. The person who ran the ERG machine was out and I'd have to come back.
After three hours in the doctor's office, I went home with nothing. I was told that the purpose of that visit was for me to have the MRI and ERG and figure out what was wrong and to expect to be there at a minimum of three hours for all of it. Husband took the whole day off work so that he could drive me there and back and hopefully get some answers. Nope. Nothing. The doctor's office is supposed to call me back today (maybe) to schedule another appointment for the tests I was expecting to have done yesterday.
When we were in the elevator of the parking garage and finally had some privacy I told Husband what the doctor had said, followed by a sharp expletive that I won't reprint here. I'd stamped my foot and said it loud enough without realizing that we were arriving at the level where we'd parked that I startled someone waiting to use the elevator. I apologized and we mad our way to the car. I cried on the way home. Husband is very understanding and has been constantly reminding me that whatever is wrong we'll deal with and that he'll always be there to help take care of me. I thanked him again and again but couldn't stop crying because I was so frustrated. I'd just been told the exact same thing by a doctor -- supposedly one of the best in the field nationwide (and will probably cost me a fortune) -- that I'd been told over and over again.
Today both Celeste and Harley can tell I'm upset. I'm sitting and waiting for a phone call that may or may not come to schedule an appointment for me to go all the way back and maybe, just maybe, finally get some concrete information. Something....anything.....information so I don't have to keep my life on pause while I'm worried just what I'll do as this continues to worsen and worry about what my last vision could be.
So, there you have it. Either I'm going blind from a mysterious cause that no one can diagnose or I'm bat-crap crazy and my brain is telling me I can't see things that I really can, which is an incredibly stupid thing for it to do since I need my vision to continue designing for the theatre (which I enjoy) and, more importantly, so I can work to pay-off all the bills I'm racking-up (which isn't as enjoyable but needs to be done). Oh well....I guess the standard "SSDD" (I'll let you look up what that usually stands for) idiom is certainly alive and well in my world.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
The mighty fence hath been restored!
And there was much rejoicing....(Yay!)....
Yes, the contractors arrived bright and early this morning and reassembled the panels that had been dislodged from their posts, using the technique I originally suggested -- big freakin' screws instead of puny nails. The lead contractor told me that they usually nail the panels on so that if someone/something hits a panel at high-speed that only the panel would come down and not the whole fence. I found that quite laughable and even showed him how laughable it was since nothing had hit the fence (except air, or maybe a leaf....perhaps a squirrel) and yet the panels were all falling down.
He admitted he was quite shocked when he arrived and found my custom-made drive-gate was twisted and warped and there was no good explanation for it. So, they poured more concrete into the post holes that had settled and leveled them. They also added more dirt in places that needed it (so glad I saved the huge pile of dirt from the first go-around). And they went to purchase new panels to reconstruct my gate so that it now operates correctly and doesn't look as if it will allow half of the wildlife of our neighborhood a way into the yard.
The part of today's adventure that didn't thrill me was my "alarm" system to let me know when someone unknown has arrived at the house. Since my medication makes me incredibly sleepy each morning, I dozed-off on the couch while waiting for the builders to arrive. Actually, I'd already dozed-off before Youngest Son left for school and he had to wake me to let me know he was leaving so I could watch to make sure he got on the bus. Then I dozed-off again.
Harley, the Schnoodle which is a cross between a poodle and a schnauzer (a terrier), is usually the first part of the "alarm" system. She sits on the couch and watches out the windows or lies beside the door in the dining room so that she can see anyone or anything passing by the house. Her terrier instincts give her the predisposition to growl and grumble at anything walking within her line of sight. It doesn't have to be on our property -- if she can see it and she doesn't know who it is or what it wants, she doesn't want it around. Many leaves and bunnies and people walking in the park across the street have been given fair warning from her growling (even though they can't hear her). It's her growling that usually alerts Celeste, my trained service dog, to see what the fuss is about and make sure there is no real "threat" to the house or those of us in it, especially me.
Celeste being a Beauceron definitely classifies her as a large dog. She's every bit of 85 pounds of muscle and alertness. And she has the traditional markings, cropped ears, and deep stare of a herding dog that usually sends humans walking the other way if she stares them down. But when needed, she can bark and it's a low, powerful bark that can be heard very well. It's the combination of Harley, yapping like an idiot and giving an intruder the thought of a small dog that wouldn't do much harm, and then Celeste's booming bark, which to someone who's not heard it would translate to, "I will eat your face off if necessary, and I believe it is," that makes a wonderful "alarm" system. And it's proven itself effective, too.
But this morning, when I was sound asleep on the couch in the comfort of knowing that these two loony dogs would do their job and let me know when the contractors arrived, nothing happened. They just sat there. Oh, they may have run to the door and saw the men getting out of the truck with tools and starting to fix the fence -- but neither decided to inform me. The incessant yapping and loud barks never came. I was finally awakened by Celeste licking me from chin-to-forehead to wake me up because she wanted to go outside. You can imagine my surprise, as well as the contractors', when I opened the back door and found their truck parked in my driveway and they found two dogs barreling out the door into the yard to go "walkies." The guys had been there long enough to remount all of the panels of the fence and neither dog had bothered to let me know.
Once I was awake, however, they wouldn't leave me alone. You'd think I'd been away on safari and they were just thrilled to see me. When the contractors left to buy more materials, neither dog did anything. But when they returned, both dogs started their yapping and barking as if to say, "See! We are good at this and look at them tremble before us!" There was no trembling -- the guys outside had already known to ignore them and went about their work.
Now they're still sitting and staring at me wondering where their treats are for scaring-away the intruders who simply left on their own after we inspected the fence and made sure the work was done correctly. If it weren't for that dopey look they get in their eyes at times like this, I'd probably have to be upset. And with one dopey-eyed dog on each side of me, that's a hard emotion to bring up at the moment.
Yes, the contractors arrived bright and early this morning and reassembled the panels that had been dislodged from their posts, using the technique I originally suggested -- big freakin' screws instead of puny nails. The lead contractor told me that they usually nail the panels on so that if someone/something hits a panel at high-speed that only the panel would come down and not the whole fence. I found that quite laughable and even showed him how laughable it was since nothing had hit the fence (except air, or maybe a leaf....perhaps a squirrel) and yet the panels were all falling down.
He admitted he was quite shocked when he arrived and found my custom-made drive-gate was twisted and warped and there was no good explanation for it. So, they poured more concrete into the post holes that had settled and leveled them. They also added more dirt in places that needed it (so glad I saved the huge pile of dirt from the first go-around). And they went to purchase new panels to reconstruct my gate so that it now operates correctly and doesn't look as if it will allow half of the wildlife of our neighborhood a way into the yard.
The part of today's adventure that didn't thrill me was my "alarm" system to let me know when someone unknown has arrived at the house. Since my medication makes me incredibly sleepy each morning, I dozed-off on the couch while waiting for the builders to arrive. Actually, I'd already dozed-off before Youngest Son left for school and he had to wake me to let me know he was leaving so I could watch to make sure he got on the bus. Then I dozed-off again.
Harley, the Schnoodle which is a cross between a poodle and a schnauzer (a terrier), is usually the first part of the "alarm" system. She sits on the couch and watches out the windows or lies beside the door in the dining room so that she can see anyone or anything passing by the house. Her terrier instincts give her the predisposition to growl and grumble at anything walking within her line of sight. It doesn't have to be on our property -- if she can see it and she doesn't know who it is or what it wants, she doesn't want it around. Many leaves and bunnies and people walking in the park across the street have been given fair warning from her growling (even though they can't hear her). It's her growling that usually alerts Celeste, my trained service dog, to see what the fuss is about and make sure there is no real "threat" to the house or those of us in it, especially me.
Celeste being a Beauceron definitely classifies her as a large dog. She's every bit of 85 pounds of muscle and alertness. And she has the traditional markings, cropped ears, and deep stare of a herding dog that usually sends humans walking the other way if she stares them down. But when needed, she can bark and it's a low, powerful bark that can be heard very well. It's the combination of Harley, yapping like an idiot and giving an intruder the thought of a small dog that wouldn't do much harm, and then Celeste's booming bark, which to someone who's not heard it would translate to, "I will eat your face off if necessary, and I believe it is," that makes a wonderful "alarm" system. And it's proven itself effective, too.
But this morning, when I was sound asleep on the couch in the comfort of knowing that these two loony dogs would do their job and let me know when the contractors arrived, nothing happened. They just sat there. Oh, they may have run to the door and saw the men getting out of the truck with tools and starting to fix the fence -- but neither decided to inform me. The incessant yapping and loud barks never came. I was finally awakened by Celeste licking me from chin-to-forehead to wake me up because she wanted to go outside. You can imagine my surprise, as well as the contractors', when I opened the back door and found their truck parked in my driveway and they found two dogs barreling out the door into the yard to go "walkies." The guys had been there long enough to remount all of the panels of the fence and neither dog had bothered to let me know.
Once I was awake, however, they wouldn't leave me alone. You'd think I'd been away on safari and they were just thrilled to see me. When the contractors left to buy more materials, neither dog did anything. But when they returned, both dogs started their yapping and barking as if to say, "See! We are good at this and look at them tremble before us!" There was no trembling -- the guys outside had already known to ignore them and went about their work.
Now they're still sitting and staring at me wondering where their treats are for scaring-away the intruders who simply left on their own after we inspected the fence and made sure the work was done correctly. If it weren't for that dopey look they get in their eyes at times like this, I'd probably have to be upset. And with one dopey-eyed dog on each side of me, that's a hard emotion to bring up at the moment.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
The Battle of the Pets: Winter Edition, Day 2
Well, we didn't get the snow or rain they forecast yesterday. The weatherpersons in our area have decided that it will be tonight/tomorrow that it shall arrive. Actually, today is much nicer outside than it was yesterday -- that always gives me an awful feeling of wintery foreboding. I'd blame my knee hurting on the impending snow, as it usually does, but it's still hurting from the reenactment back in January. Maybe I should get a professional to look at it sometime.
Anyway, this afternoon after running our errands and fighting the crowds of people in the grocery aisles who believe that any weather forecast for a single snowflake means they should go and stock-up on bread, milk, Pop-Tarts, and beer like it's the coming apocalypse, we decided to allow the dogs to play in the backyard for a while. Since it is warmer today they both were much happier frolicking around and chasing the football Youngest Son would throw towards them. Husband commented that he was stunned at how quickly Celeste could run and what sharp turns she made. I told him that he'd just never seen her at her playtime enough to get to watch her dig those extra dewclaws Beaucerons have into the ground and make her spin on a dime. Large divots and ruts began to appear in the moist soil from her high-speed turns as she raced Harley for the ball. Poor Harley, being a Schnoodle, has Schnauzer-like front legs which gets her really running but is stuck with the stick-like Poodle back legs that don't give her a lot of balance when turning quickly. Or the ability to walk on snow well -- they just poke right through and her belly freezes. Celeste is also a massive 85-pound dog designed for herding and running in the mountains of France, so she'll outrun Harley who's a lot younger any day -- regardless of weather, terrain, or treat waiting at the finish line.
Oh, allow me to digress for a moment. I'm sure some of you are wondering why I put the Pop-Tarts and beer in the list of things to stock-up on before a storm. Yes, I know you read it and thought it was there just to be funny or tried to skip-over it but still wonder what it has to do with anything. I can't find a copy of the report I read at the moment, but after Hurricane Katrina there was a survey done of the items that sold-out the fastest in the New Orleans area before the hurricane made landfall. Items number one and two were beer and Pop-Tarts. No kidding. You don't have to cook Pop-Tarts, so I assume that's why they made the list. Beer was for all the landfall parties that ended up not going quite the way they planned. So, there -- a little trivia for you. Now back to our regularly sponsored blog post.
After the dogs ran themselves silly I brought them back inside the house. I figured they'd each find a place on the recently-mopped hardwood floor or my new area rugs to crash. Nope. They're still wandering around the house, just like little kids who get wound-up on sugar or a good does of fresh air and sunshine. Celeste is still hunting for Cat but having no luck finding her. We were gone for a few hours, so Cat got quite the head-start on hiding today.
I will say that I was very impressed at the big box mart when we were shopping over how many people were respectful of Celeste's job as a service dog. I heard many more people telling their kids to not pet and trying to keep them out of the way when we were passing through. No drive-by pettings that I noticed, anyway. One young man, about age 8 or 9, had his hands full taking milk back to where his parents were. He walked past Celeste, making sure not to touch her at all, and said, "What a very nice dog you have, ma'am." I thanked him and waved at the parents when he got back to them. I had many other people come up and ask if she was a German Shepherd or a Doberman or both. I quickly explained that those breeds came from the Beauceron and was met with many "ooohs" and "aaahs" from interested people. Celeste kept watching everyone and making sure no one snuck up on me.
We were in one aisle and suddenly a lady with a thick German/Eastern European accent came up and started not quite yelling but really raising a fuss about Celeste. I couldn't quite understand what she was saying and since she came from behind me, I couldn't hear her very well. (I have a hearing problem where if I can't see your lips, I can't understand you as clearly.) It sounded something like, "Dog, very scared, danger" or "Dog, scare me, danger." Regardless, I have no idea where she came from 'cause we'd not passed her nor were we approaching her. If she wanted to run across the store to yell at me, she could at least have made sure I heard her. When I turned to face her, she ran away and we didn't see her again. Everyone in the aisle was stunned. I shrugged, gave Celeste a pat on the head, and everyone went on about their business.
So, that's the big excitement for the day. I'm sure they'll run around outside again later and keep searching for Cat all evening. Tomorrow night I'm going to watch the Westminster Dog Show -- Celeste's "niece" (for lack of a better term) Chaumette is going to be there. She was one of the top-five Beaucerons to be invited this year. Last year, Chaumette (who's three months younger than Celeste), En Theos (another Beauceron that's now a service dog), and Elias (also a service dog and specialized as a gluten-sniffing dog) all appeared at Westminster. Celeste received her championship and Rally Novice titles a few years ago, so she'll sit with us watching the show on TV. We'll be cheering all the Mes Yeux Vigilants dogs!!
Anyway, this afternoon after running our errands and fighting the crowds of people in the grocery aisles who believe that any weather forecast for a single snowflake means they should go and stock-up on bread, milk, Pop-Tarts, and beer like it's the coming apocalypse, we decided to allow the dogs to play in the backyard for a while. Since it is warmer today they both were much happier frolicking around and chasing the football Youngest Son would throw towards them. Husband commented that he was stunned at how quickly Celeste could run and what sharp turns she made. I told him that he'd just never seen her at her playtime enough to get to watch her dig those extra dewclaws Beaucerons have into the ground and make her spin on a dime. Large divots and ruts began to appear in the moist soil from her high-speed turns as she raced Harley for the ball. Poor Harley, being a Schnoodle, has Schnauzer-like front legs which gets her really running but is stuck with the stick-like Poodle back legs that don't give her a lot of balance when turning quickly. Or the ability to walk on snow well -- they just poke right through and her belly freezes. Celeste is also a massive 85-pound dog designed for herding and running in the mountains of France, so she'll outrun Harley who's a lot younger any day -- regardless of weather, terrain, or treat waiting at the finish line.
Oh, allow me to digress for a moment. I'm sure some of you are wondering why I put the Pop-Tarts and beer in the list of things to stock-up on before a storm. Yes, I know you read it and thought it was there just to be funny or tried to skip-over it but still wonder what it has to do with anything. I can't find a copy of the report I read at the moment, but after Hurricane Katrina there was a survey done of the items that sold-out the fastest in the New Orleans area before the hurricane made landfall. Items number one and two were beer and Pop-Tarts. No kidding. You don't have to cook Pop-Tarts, so I assume that's why they made the list. Beer was for all the landfall parties that ended up not going quite the way they planned. So, there -- a little trivia for you. Now back to our regularly sponsored blog post.
After the dogs ran themselves silly I brought them back inside the house. I figured they'd each find a place on the recently-mopped hardwood floor or my new area rugs to crash. Nope. They're still wandering around the house, just like little kids who get wound-up on sugar or a good does of fresh air and sunshine. Celeste is still hunting for Cat but having no luck finding her. We were gone for a few hours, so Cat got quite the head-start on hiding today.
I will say that I was very impressed at the big box mart when we were shopping over how many people were respectful of Celeste's job as a service dog. I heard many more people telling their kids to not pet and trying to keep them out of the way when we were passing through. No drive-by pettings that I noticed, anyway. One young man, about age 8 or 9, had his hands full taking milk back to where his parents were. He walked past Celeste, making sure not to touch her at all, and said, "What a very nice dog you have, ma'am." I thanked him and waved at the parents when he got back to them. I had many other people come up and ask if she was a German Shepherd or a Doberman or both. I quickly explained that those breeds came from the Beauceron and was met with many "ooohs" and "aaahs" from interested people. Celeste kept watching everyone and making sure no one snuck up on me.
We were in one aisle and suddenly a lady with a thick German/Eastern European accent came up and started not quite yelling but really raising a fuss about Celeste. I couldn't quite understand what she was saying and since she came from behind me, I couldn't hear her very well. (I have a hearing problem where if I can't see your lips, I can't understand you as clearly.) It sounded something like, "Dog, very scared, danger" or "Dog, scare me, danger." Regardless, I have no idea where she came from 'cause we'd not passed her nor were we approaching her. If she wanted to run across the store to yell at me, she could at least have made sure I heard her. When I turned to face her, she ran away and we didn't see her again. Everyone in the aisle was stunned. I shrugged, gave Celeste a pat on the head, and everyone went on about their business.
So, that's the big excitement for the day. I'm sure they'll run around outside again later and keep searching for Cat all evening. Tomorrow night I'm going to watch the Westminster Dog Show -- Celeste's "niece" (for lack of a better term) Chaumette is going to be there. She was one of the top-five Beaucerons to be invited this year. Last year, Chaumette (who's three months younger than Celeste), En Theos (another Beauceron that's now a service dog), and Elias (also a service dog and specialized as a gluten-sniffing dog) all appeared at Westminster. Celeste received her championship and Rally Novice titles a few years ago, so she'll sit with us watching the show on TV. We'll be cheering all the Mes Yeux Vigilants dogs!!
Saturday, February 11, 2012
The Battle of the Pets: Winter Edition
Holy crap on a cracker! It's flippin' COLD outside! What is it that has Mother Nature thinking she can just suck us in with spring-like temperatures all through December and January and then drop the bottom out of the thermometer like this?
Even the dogs who've been long awaiting the new fence being built so they can romp around the backyard at their leisure are dashing out, getting their "business" done, and racing each other for the door. Celeste has become very good at hurdling Harley -- not jumping over one side and landing on the other but jumping from her butt to over her head -- in order to reach the warmth of the house. And both of these dogs have coats designed for cold weather! You think they'd be running themselves silly until we'd have to drag them across the yard and up the steps to get them inside.
The one really going crazy in the house right now is Cat. Because it's so cold and the dogs don't want to be outside much, they now want to play with her. She's very old and doesn't like dogs in the first place. Heck, the only person/thing she likes is Husband and he hates cats. So now, she's wandering around the house trying to find new places to hide because all of her old spots have been discovered. Even as I'm typing this I've had to call Celeste into the room and put her in a down-stay so she'll leave the cat alone long enough to get a bite to eat. Celeste doesn't want to hurt her. I'm not even sure if she really wants to play with her. I think she's just really curious about this small blue-grey meowing thing that bats her on the nose when she gets too close and doesn't want to be around everyone else.
Celeste is a herding dog and Cat is not going to be herded. We can't even herd her into her carrier when it's time to go to the vet. You have to grab her & turn the carrier up on its end and drop her inside before she claws the crap out of you trying to escape. When we get to the vet's, you then have to turn the carrier open-side-down and shake her out of it 'cause she's gotten really good at spreading her legs where she becomes an immovable object in there. The first time we did this the vet technician thought we were being cruel and said not to do that. After trying to reach-in and grab Cat and coming away with enough scratches and bites to where she thought she'd need stitches, the technician took the carrier and shook it until Cat "fell" out (from about 6 inches). That's why when we decided to move a few years ago I purchased an inexpensive cardboard carrying box from a major national pet supply store where we could just drop her inside, close the top, and then she'd have a bigger area to escape from once we got to the new house. Easy as pie.
Harley isn't paying any attention to Cat. She's already tried all of the chasing and playing and getting whapped on the nose. She's had three years with Cat and they've finally come to an understanding -- I don't bother you and you don't bother me and neither of us has to shed any blood on Mommy's new couch/pillows/rug/etc. They're finally able to walk past each other as if they don't have a care in the world. They do that "as if" because you can bet your sweet patootie when it comes to feeding time or, even worse, when the vacuum cleaner comes out, they'll tackle each other to be the first through the doorway. Neither likes it and all of the behavior training we've done to get them to at least tolerate the sound of the vacuum still hasn't worked.
The day is getting colder and now there's a forecast for ice/snow/mix for our area beginning tomorrow and into Monday. If it's just snow, the dogs will love it. Both think they can burrow under even the tiniest dusting and it's pretty hysterical to watch. But if there's ice, that's going to be a whole other issue. They may have four-paw-drive when they're running, but we all know it doesn't work on ice. Last thing I need is them being stupid and one (or both) ending up at the vet's for either falling off of something or sliding into something else. I guess we'll have to wait and see.
Even the dogs who've been long awaiting the new fence being built so they can romp around the backyard at their leisure are dashing out, getting their "business" done, and racing each other for the door. Celeste has become very good at hurdling Harley -- not jumping over one side and landing on the other but jumping from her butt to over her head -- in order to reach the warmth of the house. And both of these dogs have coats designed for cold weather! You think they'd be running themselves silly until we'd have to drag them across the yard and up the steps to get them inside.
The one really going crazy in the house right now is Cat. Because it's so cold and the dogs don't want to be outside much, they now want to play with her. She's very old and doesn't like dogs in the first place. Heck, the only person/thing she likes is Husband and he hates cats. So now, she's wandering around the house trying to find new places to hide because all of her old spots have been discovered. Even as I'm typing this I've had to call Celeste into the room and put her in a down-stay so she'll leave the cat alone long enough to get a bite to eat. Celeste doesn't want to hurt her. I'm not even sure if she really wants to play with her. I think she's just really curious about this small blue-grey meowing thing that bats her on the nose when she gets too close and doesn't want to be around everyone else.
Celeste is a herding dog and Cat is not going to be herded. We can't even herd her into her carrier when it's time to go to the vet. You have to grab her & turn the carrier up on its end and drop her inside before she claws the crap out of you trying to escape. When we get to the vet's, you then have to turn the carrier open-side-down and shake her out of it 'cause she's gotten really good at spreading her legs where she becomes an immovable object in there. The first time we did this the vet technician thought we were being cruel and said not to do that. After trying to reach-in and grab Cat and coming away with enough scratches and bites to where she thought she'd need stitches, the technician took the carrier and shook it until Cat "fell" out (from about 6 inches). That's why when we decided to move a few years ago I purchased an inexpensive cardboard carrying box from a major national pet supply store where we could just drop her inside, close the top, and then she'd have a bigger area to escape from once we got to the new house. Easy as pie.
Harley isn't paying any attention to Cat. She's already tried all of the chasing and playing and getting whapped on the nose. She's had three years with Cat and they've finally come to an understanding -- I don't bother you and you don't bother me and neither of us has to shed any blood on Mommy's new couch/pillows/rug/etc. They're finally able to walk past each other as if they don't have a care in the world. They do that "as if" because you can bet your sweet patootie when it comes to feeding time or, even worse, when the vacuum cleaner comes out, they'll tackle each other to be the first through the doorway. Neither likes it and all of the behavior training we've done to get them to at least tolerate the sound of the vacuum still hasn't worked.
The day is getting colder and now there's a forecast for ice/snow/mix for our area beginning tomorrow and into Monday. If it's just snow, the dogs will love it. Both think they can burrow under even the tiniest dusting and it's pretty hysterical to watch. But if there's ice, that's going to be a whole other issue. They may have four-paw-drive when they're running, but we all know it doesn't work on ice. Last thing I need is them being stupid and one (or both) ending up at the vet's for either falling off of something or sliding into something else. I guess we'll have to wait and see.
Friday, February 10, 2012
My fence! My Fence! My kindgom has a fence!
Oh, I'm so happy right now!! I didn't think the contractors would come today because the weather forecast is for rain, snow, single-digit temperature lows, and the ground is wet and crappy. But the cement for all of the posts of my new privacy fence cured well and they came and finished it!
Now I don't have to look at the majority of the massive hoard one neighbor has behind the house where he's living (he doesn't own the house, just the hoard). I can only see the top portion. And the pack of dogs in the other neighbor's yard are now invisible to me and I can't hear their barking as loudly as before. It's nice when a "privacy fence" actually gives you that -- privacy.
Just before the guys got started today, Mr. Next-Door Neighbor (who isn't the one who's caused all of the problems for us that his wife and kids have) came over and asked the contractors for a bid on their property. Guess he recognizes quality when he sees it. And, I hope, he's finally gotten over the fantasy that we're going to sell him a two-and-a-half foot wide, 200-foot long strip of land that he paved part of his patio on last year without consulting a surveyor -- making it now our two-and-a-half foot wide strip of concrete. We said we weren't selling and now he'll have to pay to remove it. He's frustrated because his wife advised him that she was correct on the placement and that a survey showed it was their property, not ours. Sadly, her eyeballing of a "line" between a post and a tree doesn't constitute a legal survey and she was wrong. Now he's upset because he realizes that I've been right all of these years that (1) their property line is not as close to our house as she thought it was and (2) my readings of the platte maps and GIS photography was correct and that the other side of their property is actually inside their other neighbor's house (because people didn't bother to survey before building).
Regardless, the dogs are happy they can romp through the yard wherever they like. Well, they would be if it wasn't so freakin' cold outside right now. Both needed lots of encouragement to go into the yard and then they only did their "business" and ran straight back for the house where it's nice and warm.
Summer will be more fun when we can stay out for hours and throw the balls and frisbees for them. And, just like any other toddler, they'll play and wear themselves out and sleep for a long time. That will be nice.
Now I don't have to look at the majority of the massive hoard one neighbor has behind the house where he's living (he doesn't own the house, just the hoard). I can only see the top portion. And the pack of dogs in the other neighbor's yard are now invisible to me and I can't hear their barking as loudly as before. It's nice when a "privacy fence" actually gives you that -- privacy.
Just before the guys got started today, Mr. Next-Door Neighbor (who isn't the one who's caused all of the problems for us that his wife and kids have) came over and asked the contractors for a bid on their property. Guess he recognizes quality when he sees it. And, I hope, he's finally gotten over the fantasy that we're going to sell him a two-and-a-half foot wide, 200-foot long strip of land that he paved part of his patio on last year without consulting a surveyor -- making it now our two-and-a-half foot wide strip of concrete. We said we weren't selling and now he'll have to pay to remove it. He's frustrated because his wife advised him that she was correct on the placement and that a survey showed it was their property, not ours. Sadly, her eyeballing of a "line" between a post and a tree doesn't constitute a legal survey and she was wrong. Now he's upset because he realizes that I've been right all of these years that (1) their property line is not as close to our house as she thought it was and (2) my readings of the platte maps and GIS photography was correct and that the other side of their property is actually inside their other neighbor's house (because people didn't bother to survey before building).
Regardless, the dogs are happy they can romp through the yard wherever they like. Well, they would be if it wasn't so freakin' cold outside right now. Both needed lots of encouragement to go into the yard and then they only did their "business" and ran straight back for the house where it's nice and warm.
Summer will be more fun when we can stay out for hours and throw the balls and frisbees for them. And, just like any other toddler, they'll play and wear themselves out and sleep for a long time. That will be nice.
Monday, February 6, 2012
A fence! A fence! My kingdom for a fence!
Anyone who says "Backyard neighbors/friends are best" can just kiss-off for all I care right now. We moved to our house in 2009 and have had nothing but issues with the long list of people who have moved in and out of the houses behind us. Thankfully, though, my desire for a privacy fence is coming to fruition and I can't wait for it to be finished. Heck, right now I just can't wait for it to be started!
I like our backyard. Oh, it has its issues like any other -- weeds that you try to kill but won't go away; flowers you try to keep blooming every year that die quickly, etc. There's a depression in the middle of the yard that we've been trying to figure out since we bought the place because it doesn't always drain well after a large rain. It looks like there might have been an outbuilding of some sort there but we can't find anyone who knows. And with the house having been the oldest built in this area of town (it used to be the only thing out here for years), a lot of people "know" the house but they don't know enough to give us a good history. We know it had a name but that only lasted as long as the person who built it lived here. Later as the town grew, the land was divided and sold and other houses were built around it. Many people only know the house because of the way it sits on the lot. Since it originally faced a private road, the "front" of our house doesn't face the current paved/mapped road. People look at our house at first with an expression of, "Oh! How quaint and charming! They don't build them like that anymore!" which then changes into, "What's wrong with that? Where's your door? How do you get into your house?" as if we couldn't figure it out for ourselves.
We have large trees in our backyard which is very nice in the summer when they're in full foliage and provide nice shade for the yard and house. Today I noticed that our red-headed woodpecker is back again and has a smaller friend with him/her. It's up there pecking away at the same spot on the tree I can see outside from my home office/library/catch-all room. The smaller woodpecker is trying-out its skills on a small branch and keeps getting dizzy and falling off. The larger one, however, just needs a little thrash-metal music going and it would probably make a great YouTube video.
If the woodpecker is back, that means that soon the squirrels will start commuting again soon. One neighbor's boys keep asking us if we want them to shoot the squirrels. I tell them no because (1) if I wanted them shot I could do it myself, (2) you can't shoot them within the city limits, and (3) they're a great source of entertainment for the entire family -- dogs included. Our first winter here we found out just how resourceful our squirrels are because we forgot to bring inside the cushions for the small patio chairs on the front/side/whatever porch. After the first good freeze came, we realized that when we looked outside at the cushions that they were smaller. Knowing that many materials contract in cold temperatures but never having heard that about cotton and batting, I went to investigate. The squirrels had come down from their trees and ripped-into the covering to steal the stuffing for their nests. I know that's what they did because they weren't too shy to continue doing it as I watched through the window and each carried away as much as they could in their cheeks. So now, every winter, we leave a pillow that's been worn-out past its usefulness and let the squirrels rebuild their nests and stay warm.
As the days get longer and their food supplies run out, the squirrels will have to start foraging again. This is when our backyard becomes Grand Central Station. They've learned to hop from the trees in the front yard (where the nests are) to the roof and run across it to the back of the house. From there they drop down onto the weatherhead that protects the main power lines coming into the house. They trot across the lines into the nearest tree and then scurry and jump from tree to tree on their way to the big walnut tree for "work" each day. In the afternoons, they follow the same path back. You can almost set your watch by it. It keeps Harley entertained because she loves to look out the window and watch them go by. I know she secretly wants one to miss a step so it will come down and she can play with it, but I seriously don't think she'd know what to do with one if it did.
As Spring gets nearer, we'll soon hear the whapping of their new progeny against the side of the house. It's a rite of passage all of the squirrels in this yard must go through. After the adults allow the younglings to leave the nest, they have to learn the high-wire act just like everyone else. Most of the time, however, the younger squirrels don't quite have the strength or depth perception to jump from the tree back to the power lines to make it to the roof. For about a month or so we'll have a serenade of thumps and thuds against the eaves of the house as they try to make the leap and miss. Fortunately, they've never been seriously hurt and we're not cursed with squirrel carcasses of the not-so-talented littering our yard. They just get back up and try it again.
But with the neighbors behind us now, I'll be glad when the fence is up. Not just for ourselves and the dogs, but to preserve our little habitat. One neighbor just moved-in with three large-ish dogs staked-out in their backyard and puppies running in-and-out from under the house. All they do is bark and bark and bark when I take Harley and Celeste outside for their "walkies." The last thing I need is one getting loose and trying to attack either of my dogs. They won't like it too much if that happens and not only are they charged for damages to my pet but also can be arrested for the injury/death of a service dog which ranges from a misdemeanor to a felony in our state depending on the severity.
The other neighbor has been there since before we moved-in, but it's not his house or his property and he keeps trying to come over to tell us what we can and cannot do with ours. One night he showed-up on my back steps unannounced and was just waiting there for one of us to come out. He's darned lucky he wasn't met with one of the many pistols I keep handy for instances like that. Now that he's seen the fence contractors coming by to bid on the construction, he keeps saying how he's promised us that he'll help build the fence to make sure it's correct. I've informed the chosen contractors that if he begins to pester them or attempts to "build" anything on our property line to let us know and the police will have another discussion with him.
It just figures, though, that the incredibly warm winter we've been having will come to an abrupt end this week as the contractors try to get the concrete for the posts to cure. Days upon days of Spring-like weather and now we start getting temperatures in the "seasonal" range. Oh well, they have a one-year warranty on all construction and materials -- and I made darned sure that it included construction during the winter. So, if the thing starts to lean, they have to come fix it. I'm nothing if not thorough (and perhaps a little nitpicky) over contracts and making sure I get what I want.
Now I have to decide....planks facing out where I have to look at the posts and cross-beams from my window or planks facing in which could give the annoying neighbors a ladder to climb into my yard.... The city laughed when I joked about wanting a 6-foot chain link fence with razor wire on top. Too bad....it would be cheaper....
I like our backyard. Oh, it has its issues like any other -- weeds that you try to kill but won't go away; flowers you try to keep blooming every year that die quickly, etc. There's a depression in the middle of the yard that we've been trying to figure out since we bought the place because it doesn't always drain well after a large rain. It looks like there might have been an outbuilding of some sort there but we can't find anyone who knows. And with the house having been the oldest built in this area of town (it used to be the only thing out here for years), a lot of people "know" the house but they don't know enough to give us a good history. We know it had a name but that only lasted as long as the person who built it lived here. Later as the town grew, the land was divided and sold and other houses were built around it. Many people only know the house because of the way it sits on the lot. Since it originally faced a private road, the "front" of our house doesn't face the current paved/mapped road. People look at our house at first with an expression of, "Oh! How quaint and charming! They don't build them like that anymore!" which then changes into, "What's wrong with that? Where's your door? How do you get into your house?" as if we couldn't figure it out for ourselves.
We have large trees in our backyard which is very nice in the summer when they're in full foliage and provide nice shade for the yard and house. Today I noticed that our red-headed woodpecker is back again and has a smaller friend with him/her. It's up there pecking away at the same spot on the tree I can see outside from my home office/library/catch-all room. The smaller woodpecker is trying-out its skills on a small branch and keeps getting dizzy and falling off. The larger one, however, just needs a little thrash-metal music going and it would probably make a great YouTube video.
If the woodpecker is back, that means that soon the squirrels will start commuting again soon. One neighbor's boys keep asking us if we want them to shoot the squirrels. I tell them no because (1) if I wanted them shot I could do it myself, (2) you can't shoot them within the city limits, and (3) they're a great source of entertainment for the entire family -- dogs included. Our first winter here we found out just how resourceful our squirrels are because we forgot to bring inside the cushions for the small patio chairs on the front/side/whatever porch. After the first good freeze came, we realized that when we looked outside at the cushions that they were smaller. Knowing that many materials contract in cold temperatures but never having heard that about cotton and batting, I went to investigate. The squirrels had come down from their trees and ripped-into the covering to steal the stuffing for their nests. I know that's what they did because they weren't too shy to continue doing it as I watched through the window and each carried away as much as they could in their cheeks. So now, every winter, we leave a pillow that's been worn-out past its usefulness and let the squirrels rebuild their nests and stay warm.
As the days get longer and their food supplies run out, the squirrels will have to start foraging again. This is when our backyard becomes Grand Central Station. They've learned to hop from the trees in the front yard (where the nests are) to the roof and run across it to the back of the house. From there they drop down onto the weatherhead that protects the main power lines coming into the house. They trot across the lines into the nearest tree and then scurry and jump from tree to tree on their way to the big walnut tree for "work" each day. In the afternoons, they follow the same path back. You can almost set your watch by it. It keeps Harley entertained because she loves to look out the window and watch them go by. I know she secretly wants one to miss a step so it will come down and she can play with it, but I seriously don't think she'd know what to do with one if it did.
As Spring gets nearer, we'll soon hear the whapping of their new progeny against the side of the house. It's a rite of passage all of the squirrels in this yard must go through. After the adults allow the younglings to leave the nest, they have to learn the high-wire act just like everyone else. Most of the time, however, the younger squirrels don't quite have the strength or depth perception to jump from the tree back to the power lines to make it to the roof. For about a month or so we'll have a serenade of thumps and thuds against the eaves of the house as they try to make the leap and miss. Fortunately, they've never been seriously hurt and we're not cursed with squirrel carcasses of the not-so-talented littering our yard. They just get back up and try it again.
But with the neighbors behind us now, I'll be glad when the fence is up. Not just for ourselves and the dogs, but to preserve our little habitat. One neighbor just moved-in with three large-ish dogs staked-out in their backyard and puppies running in-and-out from under the house. All they do is bark and bark and bark when I take Harley and Celeste outside for their "walkies." The last thing I need is one getting loose and trying to attack either of my dogs. They won't like it too much if that happens and not only are they charged for damages to my pet but also can be arrested for the injury/death of a service dog which ranges from a misdemeanor to a felony in our state depending on the severity.
The other neighbor has been there since before we moved-in, but it's not his house or his property and he keeps trying to come over to tell us what we can and cannot do with ours. One night he showed-up on my back steps unannounced and was just waiting there for one of us to come out. He's darned lucky he wasn't met with one of the many pistols I keep handy for instances like that. Now that he's seen the fence contractors coming by to bid on the construction, he keeps saying how he's promised us that he'll help build the fence to make sure it's correct. I've informed the chosen contractors that if he begins to pester them or attempts to "build" anything on our property line to let us know and the police will have another discussion with him.
It just figures, though, that the incredibly warm winter we've been having will come to an abrupt end this week as the contractors try to get the concrete for the posts to cure. Days upon days of Spring-like weather and now we start getting temperatures in the "seasonal" range. Oh well, they have a one-year warranty on all construction and materials -- and I made darned sure that it included construction during the winter. So, if the thing starts to lean, they have to come fix it. I'm nothing if not thorough (and perhaps a little nitpicky) over contracts and making sure I get what I want.
Now I have to decide....planks facing out where I have to look at the posts and cross-beams from my window or planks facing in which could give the annoying neighbors a ladder to climb into my yard.... The city laughed when I joked about wanting a 6-foot chain link fence with razor wire on top. Too bad....it would be cheaper....
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Where do you get squirrel-flavored cake at this hour?
Today's post is going to be very short because I have two birthdays to celebrate today. And, as anyone who's had to organize birthdays for a 3-year-old and a 5-year-old will know, it takes a lot of time.
Fortunately, though, these two celebrants aren't going to mind that there are no decorations, cakes, or overly-expensive presents with which they'll never play.
I'm sending Happy Birthday wishes to Harley and Celeste, my pet and service dog respectively. I know Celeste's birthdate because of the papers that came with her since she's an AKC registered dog. Harley is a shelter rescue and we can only estimate when she was born based on her age the vet gave us when we adopted her. So, why not have them share a special day? Makes it easier on us owners who have a lot of dates to remember!
Happy birthday to them both! They're both two of the best dogs I've ever had in my life and I'm very thankful they're here.
Fortunately, though, these two celebrants aren't going to mind that there are no decorations, cakes, or overly-expensive presents with which they'll never play.
I'm sending Happy Birthday wishes to Harley and Celeste, my pet and service dog respectively. I know Celeste's birthdate because of the papers that came with her since she's an AKC registered dog. Harley is a shelter rescue and we can only estimate when she was born based on her age the vet gave us when we adopted her. So, why not have them share a special day? Makes it easier on us owners who have a lot of dates to remember!
Happy birthday to them both! They're both two of the best dogs I've ever had in my life and I'm very thankful they're here.
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