Sheer terror.
That's the look my canines get in their eyes at the very mention of the B word. For those without pets, the B word is - whisper now - !bath!. All I said was "I think the dogs need a bath.". Eyes went wide, ears went back, and tails whipped down to hide between hind legs. You'd have thought I'd said "dog stew"!
Somehow they knew that this was going to be no ordinary bath. Not a nice warm bath in the tub, which they also hate, with a towel standing by, but an outside bath, standing in the kids' swimming pool, using the coldcoldcold! water from the outdoor tap. Piper started trembling in anticipation before she even got wet. I had run the warm water from 100 feet of black hose sitting in the sun all day into the pool. She still shivered when I put her in the standing water. She turned her head to look at me with imploring eyes, begging me, please, please don't do this to me! Tell me what I've done, said she, to deserve such torture! I swear to never do it again, if you'll just turn that water off! Of course, being the cruel mistress I am, I refused.
As the ritual dog torture neared its end, I began looking for the next victim. I finally found her underneath the spruce, backed up against the trunk, nearly hidden by the low branches. In her eyes, that same look of abject terror. They have never been abused with or by a hose, or a kiddie pool, or even a bottle of dog soap. They have never been put in the water and held under (well, Sheena did fall in the swimming pool at a friend's house, and sank straight to the bottom, but I had her out before she could react. Only dog I ever saw who couldn't at least float!), and yet the 'B' word truly puts the fear of God into them.
I think they are all insane. I would love to have someone put me in a pool of warm water and shampoo my hair thoroughly, and then comb it out and blow it dry. (Hmm. Maybe I'll come back as a dog in my next life! Nah, with my luck I'd come back in the orient.) What is it in a dog's mind which associates a bath with such fear? I guess I'll never know.
"But this day the game of the minute was 'Torture the Dog.' But can she climb a tree? They don't think so! 'Neener, neener, neener; you ca-an't get us! C'mon, we dare ya--just try it!' "
This really made me laugh. And it dredged up a memory I had almost forgotten. See, I have a Squirrel Commando dog, too. We used to live out on a 500 acre horse farm where the squirrels are definetly the smartest things living there. Smarter than the people, that's for sure. I've seen them do things to get at the seeds in a bird feeder that most college graduates would never even think of!
Anyway, back to the story, my blue merle (her colour) Sheltie, Sheena hates squirrels. Or maybe she loves them, I can't tell. All she has to do is think that maybe that was a twitching tail, or a glinting eye, and she's off like a flash, all noise and teeth and tail spinning.
One day after a particularly good chase around the perimeter of the 10 acre yard, Mr. Squirrel decided to try a flying leap onto the house, just to confuse the dog. This was have been a great idea and probably would have worked too, but Mr. Squirrel neglected to take into account the age of the highway (the trees) upon which he ran. Out onto the far tip of the lowest limb, right out over the open driveway, and leap... just as he leapt, the limb collapsed with him riding it all the way down, at least 25 feet, to smash onto the drive at Sheena's feet.
I heard a distinct "ooof!" as the squirrel hit the ground. Sheena got all excited, but as I started to run over to help avoid any bloodshed, I saw her get a very confused look on her face. (if you don't think dogs have facial expressions, then I feel sorry for your dog!) There was this squirrel just lying there, dazed. Then she looked up at me as if to say she was sorry for breaking the toy! She never even made a move for it. All three of us stayed perfectly still for several seconds. Then just as I thought Sheena was going to go over to sniff, the squirrel jumped up and ran quick as a flash up the nearest tree. Sheena was after him a second later - hooray, the game was back on!
I will never forget the look on Sheena's face, and the way the squirrel looked back at her - right into her eyes, as if to say "just gimme a second or two head start, ok?"
A week later, I came in from work, came up the stairs and called to the animals. Both dogs came running right away, but the cat was nowhere to be seen. I went looking for him, imagining that Sheena the Dog had finally bitten his head off. I found him in the study, reclining regally on the floor like the sphinx, with a whole, unmarked, dead mouse off to his right. As soon as he saw that he had my attention, he gracefully lifted his right paw and possesively placed it on the dead mouse. "This is my mouse." He purred. "I caught it, it is mine. However, you may have it if you wish as a gift from me." He was so proud. He had done his job. I thanked his royal highness, and took the gift from him. I tossed it out into the brush pile hoping that the foxes would find it before the dogs did. That cat never did catch another mouse.
Saturday night we had an intruder. I was sitting here at the 'puter (where else?) after feeding the dogs, when I heard the screen door in the garage open and then bang shut. Now, the big door to the garage was closed, on an electric opener, and it had not gone up. The only other way into our garage is through a ground level window which was locked, or through the house. I had *just* finished feeding the dogs (the dog food is in the garage) and I know that the door was locked before and after I did so. So either someone had been in the garage since I closed it that afternoon, or someone had gotten in the window.
This train of thought was derailed suddenly when I heard the door again. Again the same open, bang shut. Whoever it was must be pretty stupid (I thought to myself), they weren't even trying the door knob of the inner door. So I turned off the lights, and grabbed the 5 foot hardwood flag pole I had stored behind the kitchen door, and proceeded down the steps. There is a street light which shines into our garage from the street directly behind our house, so I knew that with the lights off inside, if I opened the door quickly I would be able to see at least a sillouette (sp?) before they could see me. So I sneaked down the stairs, and standing two steps up, out of reach of someone on the other side of the door, I reached down and jerked the door open...
and ZOOM! Something zipped past me. I swung the pole around in a tight circle and whacked whoever it was a good *crack!*. HEY-OW! It yelled, and flew down the hall toward the bedrooms. Still running on an adrenaline rush, I shoved the screen door open with the pole, and flipped the light on. Nothing, no one. I then went back up the steps to find a VERY unhappy cat glaring at me from his favorite perch atop the dog kennel, licking a very sore side.
Felis Domesticus is not a terribly intelligent animal. Well, perhaps they are intelligent, they just lack good judgement! This particular specimen has discovered that if the inner door is open, with just the screen door closed, he can stand up and push the screen door open, thereby gaining his freedom. He can also grab the bottom of the door from the outside (the door hangs a bit crooked which leaves a gap at the bottom) and pull, opening the door and letting himself in. Problem is, this time he snuck out while I was standing in the door, holding it open with my foot while I doled out the dog food, and I didn't see him. So when I went in, I closed and locked the inner door. That left him trapped in the garage. When he got the screen door open and let himself in, he found that he was stuck inbetween the two doors because somehow he wadded up the rug that was in front of the screen door, and it wouldn't open either. Instead of gaining his freedom, all he got was whacked with a stick. Maybe he'll reconsider next time that door is open... Nah.
WARNING. THIS POST DEALS WITH UNPLEASANT THINGS LIKE BLOOD. STOP NOW IF YOU ARE SQUEAMISH!!
I have animals. Lots of animals. Usually in multiples of two. At the moment, I happen to have 4 dogs. One XS (11 pounds), one S (15 pounds), one M (49 pounds), and one XL (80 pounds). Those are sizes, not breeds, in case you were wondering.
Normally they get along just fine. They play together, and occasionally the play gets rough, but it always stops just before bodily harm occurs. One of the games the M and S dogs play together is "I can get there first". A simple game, but the simple ones are the best when you're a dog. I get a toy, any toy will do but the squeaky ball or the rope are favorites, and throw it. The M dog and the S dog take off running, racing to see who can get to it first. If the M dog wins, she brings me the toy with the S dog nipping at her heels barking his annoyance. If the S dog wins, he waits smugly for the M dog to catch up and collect the toy, then runs back and jumps up in my lap to smirk at her while she carries it back. He doesn't want the toy, just the victory. This is great fun and good exercise.
This evening was different for some reason. My oldest son (8) was tossing the rope toy for them, and when the S dog ran at the toy as usual, the M dog got pissed. She turned and gave the S dog a good beating around the head and shoulders for a second or two, until Mom (that's me) realized what was happening. They were at it in earnest. Someone was gonna get hurt, and I was afraid it was going to be my boy, who was trying to wade into the fracas to break it up. So I did the alpha bitch growl - heyHeyHEyHEY, HEY! - and both dogs suddenly remembered who and where they were. The M dog took off to hide under the end table (if i can't see her then she isn't there, right?), and the S dog came running to me, growling and whining and snapping the whole way. He was scared! I was afraid that in his fear, he might snap at one of the boys, who were trying to console him, and make contact. That would not have been a good thing. So I picked him up, put him in my lap, and held his head with both hands, talking calmly to him. After just a couple of seconds, his whining and growling stopped, and he started to tremble.
You have to understand what a major deal that is for him. When
I got him he was an undersocialized, untrained, unwanted mess. He
had been cared for in the sense that he was given all his shots, had been
neutered, and had had adequate food, water, and shelter. But, the
girl that had him had gotten him as a gift - one she really didn't want.
So he had NO manners at all. No idea how to interact with a pack.
We've had him more than a year now, and he is like a new dog. For
him to calm
down as fast as he did was remarkable.
I took my hands away from his head to pet him and let him know what a good dog he was. That's when the smell hit my nose. Dog blood. Yup, dog blood has a distinct odor, much different from human blood. I looked at my hands, and my left palm was covered with blood. I said "yuck", and both boys started freaking out. My oldest ran for paper towels (he's so cool in the clench! I'm proud of him.). My youngest started wailing... oooooohhhh! ooooooohhh! poooorr puuuuppy! This did nothing for the S dog's state of mind. I told my youngest to hush, that the dog would be fine. He settled down to silent tears.
I took the paper towels that my oldest brought me, one damp and one dry, and started cleaning up the S dog's face. M dog got him right in the eye with a canine tooth. After a thorough examination, I determined that it was just through the top layers of skin, and had not gone all the way through to the eyeball. There was some blood in his eye, but it was running into the eyelid externally from the fur. As I cleaned the blood away, I carefully examined the entire eye. There is a perfect semi-circle of teeth marks around the eye - from a tiny cut at the inner corner of his eye made by an incisor, to the large puncture directly above and to the outside of his eye from the canine tooth. He's a lucky dog. The M dog could easily have bitten that whole eye right out. She was just teaching him a lesson.
The excitement is over now. The kids are in bed, the M dog is in a "down-stay" with her "head-down" in the corner (to remind her that the only dog in the house allowed to discipline is ME!), and the S dog is sleeping it off on his nice soft, thick, padded bed in his crate.
Whew. I think I'll go to bed, too.
Tue, 11 Apr 2000
It's a never ending battle against evil, in her little world. The door she finally decided wouldn't eat her now leads to the big green blinking monster, so she won't come near it, much less through it. I have to go downstairs to let her in every time they go out. The weird part of the whole thing is that she sleeps in the corner of the living room that the tree is in, practically under it. She'll stand at the edge of the tree for a petting, batting around ornaments with her tail. But she will not go through the door from the outside into the kitchen if she can see the tree.
We also have some new monsters around that are more at eye level for her. There is the carousel that turns and blinks and plays digitized Christmas carols. The carousel is on the kitchen table, and now the poor dog won't come into the kitchen even for a treat at dinner time. And the Santa my M-i-L gave us wiggles it's middle and sings "Jingle Bells" - over and over and over again? Well, it's by the front door! Yet another avenue of exit blocked.
My orange tabbies, like Theta's, are indeed enjoying the tree and other assorted monsters. They're just great big cat toys. Our tree is fake (I'm too lazy to sweep up that many needles every year), so they don't enjoy climbing or sleeping in it, but they have had a wonderful time standing up and swatting at the dangly things near the bottom. I'm sure it won't be long before the baby (8 month old Gromit) discovers that he can jump up into it, and the egg ornaments will be toast. He's also pretty sure that the carousel horses are some kind of deformed mice that REALLY need killing.
I love Christmas - it entertains the animals so!
5 Dec, 2000
ANYway... We were at the equine breeding shed for class this particular
day, and the day's entertainment consisted of watching a stallion have
his semen collected for use in Artificial Insemination. Now, this
totally fascinated me, and I sat watching intently and taking notes while
the instructor brought out the teaser mare and pointed out her vulva.
"See how it's kinda twitching open and closed, and how moist it is?
That's called 'flagging', and you know the mare is ready to be bred when
she does this." I heard a bit of giggling in the back rows, but ignored
it. Then they trussed up the mare in her breeding harness,
which allows her to walk (barely), but not to kick the expensive breeding
stallion in his very expensive testicles.
Then, they brought out the stallion. <heh,heh!> More giggling from the back rows as the stallion strode right up to the mare and started snuffling under her tail. He knew EXACTLY what he was going to be doing just shortly, and was all primed and ready. As he snuffled the mare's behind, his excitement began to protrude from between his legs. He jumped up to mount the mare, and the handlers quickly grabbed his engorged penis, pulling it to one side of the mare and slipping the well lubricated rubber cuff which held the semen tube over it. At this point there were screams from the back. I had been completely engrossed in the process of collecting this fine stud, and failed to notice the little girl in back who, in a fit of embarrasment, threw her hands up to cover her face and promptly knocked herself off of the top row of bleachers!
Thu, 15 Mar 2001
