The Ohio legislature is now considering a bill that would make it illegal to leave a dog tethered outside in extreme temperatures. The Capital Area Humane Society says it received 30 – 40 calls every day about animals left outside when it’s too cold for most of us to even take the garbage out. See […]
Apparently I am incapable of blogging more than once a month. No matter how good my intentions are.
We got Summit’s eyes fixed about 3 weeks ago. Everything went smoothly although they aren’t looking normal yet. We have reached the stitches-are-dissolving-and-his-eyes-are-goopy-and-disgusting stage. :)
He is very much an “out of sight, out of mind” kind of dog. For example, we went snowshoeing the other day, and Marlin went into the outhouse for about 60 seconds. When he stepped out, Summit was shocked to see him and didn’t know who he was. LOL.
The nice thing about that aspect of his personality is that he’s really easy to distract if he is doing something naughty like harassing the cats. I lazy throw of a toy is enough to draw him away.
Coulee has been playing with him like crazy. It’s super nice to see. She doesn’t bully him nearly as much as she does Lacey and they can actually sustain play for 15-30 minutes at a time. (Usually when Coulee plays with Lacey it deteriorates after a few minutes and we have to put a stop to it). Lacey has been like Jeckyl and Hyde with Summit. She can go from wrestling with him to snarling fiercely in the blink of an eye. She’s usually more inclined to play with him outside in the backyard or when we are out on a walk but not always. For a while I was thinking she wasn’t feeling very good but she isn’t showing any other signs so I think it’s just her being crabby.
Lacey’s fur has grown back and you can’t even tell she had surgery on her back not that long ago. That’s pretty much it in “dog news”.
So I’ve tried a few 52 week projects. I’ve even tried a 365. And I’ve failed to complete them all. But what I have enjoyed is the photos I get out of them when I put the effort into it. So I’m going to be doing an unofficial 52 week project this year. I’ll be roughly using prompts from the “Creative 52″ book by Lindsay Adler as well as some “shot ideas” from Charlotte Reeves’ book “Dog Shots”. I hope to essentially plan a shot then go out and do it. I find if I don’t, I just do the same old, same old. Over and over and over and frankly it gets dull. It was OK when Summit was growing so quickly as I was basically just documenting the changes. But now that his growth has slowed down to a dull roar, I want to start capturing something a little different.
My last attempt at a 52 week project was two years ago. The prompt was Colour and I loved the shot of Coulee that I got and I wanted to try and get the same photo of Summit. It worked out perfectly.
Then seeing as we were out and about, we took some other colourful photos as well.
I’ve got a few more I still need to edit too. I’m already glad I’ve made the effort for the project. It’s nice to do something different every now and then.
Poor little doggie. Have a great weekend! Until next time, Good day, and good dog!
I come from dog people. Not the ones caricatured on Best in Show, or the ones who join clubs or show them. I come people who just enjoyed being out with dogs–maybe with a gun, maybe without one.
Dogs were the greatest joy when I was a child. I didn’t have many friends growing up, and I’ve always sort of been “odd.” So when I could come home and spend time outside with the dogs, it was the greatest time of my life. I can still remember those long, seemingly endless summer days when I was out in the woods and the fields the family dogs.
But those times are over. All I’ve ever written about dogs is attempt to recapture what has been lost and will never be recovered.
To that extent, I’m torturing myself thinking that I can ever be in a place to enjoy the presence of dogs without all the baggage of the greater dog society looming over me.
I have to cut things that are poisoning to my soul. The continuous fighting over training methods, feeding regimes, vaccine schedules, and the true breed standards is nothing but pure arsenic.
Yeah, you people have gotten to me. It’s taken a while.
Sometimes, I let it lapse, but then I see something like I saw yesterday, where someone was “saving” two Trigg foxhounds from hunting and didn’t even know what kind of dog they were. The dogs were going to “enjoy” a wonderful life where they got to go to play dates and lots of treats.
Those dogs would almost be better off euthanized. Those dogs will be babied and coddled until one of two things happens. Either their baying gets on the nerves of their rescuer or her neighbors or the hounds go off on a nice cat hunt and wind up tearing a suburban tabby into a few pieces.
Then they’ll be euthanized.
Virtually every problem dogs face comes from us, and I just can’t correct it anymore.
People are wrong. People are assholes.
Dogs are generally better than the people promoting them.
But you cannot deal with the dogs without dealing with “dog people.”
And I just don’t fit in anywhere.
For the sake of dogs, I think I’m better off keeping my mouth shut, and I’m probably better off walking a different direction.
Anyway, there isn’t much I can do. I am not changing. If I’m wrong, you won’t be hearing it from me anymore.
If you haven’t heard the news, we here in Southern California are finally starting to see the effects of the massive, gargantuan El Nino the likes of which we have not seen in our lifetimes. And I think it’s going to be ugly.
Every time we deal with a natural disaster, everyone runs out and gives people tips for preparing and being ready and most people do one or two things but the reality is, there’s only so much time in the day and so many disasters one can prepare for without going full on survivalist. At some point you have to get on with your day and hope you’re not separated from your family when the Big One hits.
The more likely you are to suffer a disaster, the more likely you are to prepare for that particular situation. All Californians know what to do in an earthquake; it’s drilled into us starting with kindergarten (as were nuclear meltdown drills in the 80s when I lived by the San Onofre plant, but in retrospect I’m not sure what good hiding under a desk would have done, really.) The beach roads by my house are helpfully marked with convenient evacuation routes for tsunamis. And after last year, when my kids were whisked out of school while a massive wildfire bore down on my neighborhood, I also revised my wildfire plan.
I figured since I knew what to do for earthquakes, tsunamis, wildfires, floods, and nuclear core meltdowns, I had all my bases covered and could relax and enjoy the thunder a little without worrying too much, right?
But no one ever taught me what to do about a tornado.
Around noon yesterday, I got a call from my kids’ school that due to the thunder and lightning, they were not letting kids walk out to their parents like they usually do and each of us would have to individually pick up our kids in the car pickup line or park and go into the school. Fine, I thought, and showed up 45 minutes early to get a spot in line.
About 10 minutes after that, I get a panicked text from my daughter that one of her counselors received a tornado warning on her cell phone.
“Don’t worry,” I texted back. “She probably lives out in the boonies somewhere.”
“SHE LIVES HERE,” she texted back, followed by 10 crying emojis.
Then my phone buzzed. “Tornado warning until 3:45 in your area,” it said. “Seek cover immediately.”
Now by this point all the parents in the parking lot are grabbing their buzzing phones like a scene out of a Steven King movie, looking at each other with a quizzical “What the heck does this mean” look. What’s a warning? Does that mean it’s a little windy? Or does it mean an F-3 is bearing down on our little line of cars?
Meanwhile, my daughter- who has been studying geology in school and has a deep and abiding fear of all natural disasters including tsunamis, super volcanos, and the San Andreas fault, is calling me in tears because she got the text as well and now she’s convinced we are all going to die, and I am trying to reassure her everything is fine while a small part of me started thinking about tying myself to the flagpole with a slip lead.
Being the cautious type, I pulled out of the pickup line and parked the car so I could go inside the sturdy concrete environs of the school and join a teeming mass of alarmed parents, none of whom knew what a tornado warning actually meant. A smaller but hardier number remained stubbornly in the parking lot, because in the Southern California school jungle, The Wicked Witch of the East fate is an acceptable risk when it comes to giving up a prime spot in the pickup line.
My daughter requests that we not leave the school grounds until the tornado warning expires, which happens about half an hour later. Most people do not wait, rolling their eyes at the National Weather Services’ overabundance of caution and running off into the winds, umbrellas inside out. I learn later that most of the county schools were ordered to shelter in place, but not us. Fortunately for all involved no tornado actually materialized, because it probably would have eaten up the vast majority of minivans in the region, leaving no one standing but the school principal and us, while my daughter says, “Told you so.”
On the way home, my phone buzzed again. FLASH FLOOD WARNING, it said. STAY INSIDE. There at least was something I knew what to do with. Avoid creeks.
I came home to find poor Brody curled in our laundry room, the only windowless room in the house. My friends in the midwest reassure me that a tornado warning is a big deal and instead of playing Bejeweled in the car one is supposed to run to the center of the house- in my case, our laundry room- and pull a mattress over your head.
My point in all of this is, you can prepare all you want but there’s still always going to be something you just never thought you needed to be able to handle, and that’s probably what is going to get you. And when that happens-
If that happens-
Look to your dog for guidance. He’s the only one with any sense.
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