tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49018445432434059192024-03-12T17:28:55.216-07:00Exercise Finishedtervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.comBlogger915125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-48306723190046235932015-02-26T12:44:00.001-08:002015-02-26T12:53:42.897-08:00Tricks by any other name<div class="MsoNormal">
Some food for thought on a brutal winter day while I’m at
home, sucking down cold medicine and trying to keep the dogs from stealing my
tissues. (Why are dogs so fascinated by tissues?)</div>
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Teaching "parlor tricks" has gained a lot of popularity among
competition trainers (both obedience and agility) in recent years. When I
started obedience training back in the day, tricks were not given a lot of
credibility. We taught the obedience exercises and if there was any time left
after that, well, if you wanted to teach tricks, no one was going to say you
couldn’t but they’d probably turn the lights out on you when they left.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Tricks burst on the scene, at least onto my scene, during
Phoenix’s generation. Suddenly, it was all the rage for dogs of every
discipline to have a repertoire of tricks totally unrelated to anything they
did “in the ring.” </div>
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<br /></div>
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Until then, I taught my dogs to shake hands (usually as an
assist to wiping muddy paws when they came in the house) and that was about it. I had my
hands full teaching the skills I needed to reach my goals in the obedience
ring.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Until Phoenix. He knows more tricks than any of my previous
dogs combined. He will shake, sit up and beg, dance on his hind legs, roll over (both
directions), back across a room, scuttle backward in a down, chase his tail
(both directions), back up a flight of stairs, retrieve and stack bowls, put
four feet in a box, pivot with his feet on an overturned bowl, bounce in the
air and snap his teeth on command. Has any of this improved our obedience
scores? I don’t know.</div>
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The popularity of teaching tricks surged as trainers started
incorporating them to teach body awareness,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>mostly for agility skills, although they can be helpful for
obedience, too. The phrase “relationship building” also became a popular
buzzword, and tricks were touted as being a fun way to build your relationship
with your dog.</div>
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Call me a renegade, but I have a problem with this. I don’t
have a problem with teaching tricks – they’re fun and sometimes have useful applications. I have a problem with the
implication that “regular” training (i.e., teaching performance skills) is not
a good enough way to build your relationship with your dog and you must rely on
something else in order to “have fun” and achieve that end.</div>
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Granted, tricks are delightfully pressure-free. They come with no expectation of creating a
performance that will be judged according to a set of scoreable
standards in order to earn titles. You’ll never mail
an entry, then freak out when your dog forgets how to do his tricks. You can
use lots of cookies for tricks and you can use them forever, who cares?
Generally, you don’t need a lot of room to train tricks. You don’t need a
building or a field or expensive, heavy, specialized, customized equipment.
Tricks are silly. They make us laugh. Who wouldn’t laugh at a huge dog daintily
putting his feet in a small box or flipping the lid open and climbing into a
suitcase?</div>
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<br /></div>
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But can’t teaching a dog to lie down from a stand or pick up
a dumbbell also be viewed as a trick? </div>
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<br /></div>
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I’m guessing our dogs don’t care one way or the other if
something is called a trick or an exercise. They DO care about how things are
taught and how rewarding they find the experience to be.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I tend to be a lazy trainer. If a behavior doesn’t have an application to obedience skills, I’m probably not going to take the
time to teach it. That’s just me. There’s a lot of cute stuff that I could
teach my dog but since I don’t have unlimited training time, I gravitate
toward things that are going to help him gain the physical and mental skills he
needs to succeed in the obedience ring. Sometimes those are tricks. Sometimes they are traditional "exercises."</div>
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<br /></div>
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With that in mind, what if you decided instead of teaching
your dog to do obedience “work,” you would teach him to do obedience “tricks”? Straight
fronts or perfect heel position with total engagement might not be as adorably cute
as watching a 53 pound malinois put his feet in a tiny little box (seriously,
WHY is that so cute?) but it’s gonna make me smile, nonetheless.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Phoenix’s trick repertoire was generally the result of
living with a high energy breed who constantly sought mental
stimulation and if left to his own devices would go eat the couch. Those of you
who have dogs like this know what I’m talking about. I taught him tricks almost
in self defense, to fill those empty winter evenings and to keep his mind out
of trouble while waiting at trials.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Banner is nothing like Phoenix and I haven’t taught him any tricks yet, except for four-feet-in-a-box. Our 6 months together so far has been spent laying
obedience foundation. For the most part, he thinks it’s all grand fun, although
he finds the concept of “stay” a bit disappointing. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I’ve worked hard to make
the obedience training time we share together is fun, full of energy and praise and tangible rewards. I wonder if trainers who are struggling with obedience
exercises approached them with the same carefree spirit as they would train
parlor tricks, if they could shed the boredom and monotony that plagues many
obedience partnerships?</div>
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<br /></div>
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Food for thought. And now I’m off to find another dose of cold meds. </div>
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tervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-62879843401380404492015-02-17T11:35:00.001-08:002015-02-17T11:40:51.108-08:00Here, kitty, kitty, kitty<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Adding a puppy to Phoenix’s world last summer was a piece of
cake compared to adding a cat. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">While I am not in the habit of adding either at
random, we’ve gained five cats at our place since the summer of 2013 (3 of them intentionally, 2 by accident) and all of
them are still alive and as normal as cats ever get. Phoenix has come to terms with all of them in his own special bitey way. I suspect a couple of them
may attend therapy for malinois-induced neurosis but on the surface they appear
to be your average Iowa barn cats.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cat number seven arrived earlier this month. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In case you’re counting, I didn’t skip cat number six. She
is Winnie The Cat and she was here before Phoenix. Technically, she was here
before Jamie, if that gives you an idea of how insanely old she is. She was
actually cat number one. Cats number two through six – Siren, Gryphon, Weezel (intentional),
Wild and Bonus (accidental) - came in 2013. 2014 was relatively peaceful, if you don’t count
Banner’s arrival, which lit off all sorts of fireworks until Phoenix decided he
wuuuuuved his little bob-tailed bro. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And that brings us to cat number seven.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m not averse to having multiple outdoor cats. We have a
big farm. There’s plenty of room for everyone. There are plenty of mice for
everyone. There’s plenty of room around the communal food bowl, too. The price
of eating out of the communal bowl is a round trip to the vet. That entitles the
recipient to sit on the patio, two squares a day and free run of the farm
without being molested by the dogs. Unless, of course, the cat wants to be
molested and then it can just roll over and stick its paws in the air and let
the dogs sniff and poke. This happens frequently.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That’s where Phoenix and I see things a little differently.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">With a malinois, there are no shades of gray. It’s either
black or it’s white. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In this case, it’s both.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cat number seven, hereafter known as Freeloader, is black
and white. He showed up earlier this month. He keeps a low profile but has
figured out the morning and evening feeding times. He’s not a touchy-feely sort
of cat but he talks to me a lot.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Phoenix does not approve. Freeloader is not one of “his”
cats. He has not cleared whatever passes for a background check in Phoenix’s
world. Therefore he does not belong. He should leave. He should leave now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Phoenix, barking hysterically: Insurgent! Intruder! Battle
stations! Scramble the fighters! This is not a drill!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Me: What? What! It’s a cat! Freddie Krueger is not on the
back porch! <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Phoenix: Yes! Cat! Not my cat! Strange cat! Who’s Freddie
Krueger?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Me: Will you relax? It can stay.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Phoenix: No! Strange cat! Not okay! Must leave! I will make
it leave!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Banner: New kitty? Where? Want it!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Freeloader: Holy crap. This place has good chow but the
natives are a little over the top.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Phoenix: I will give you the malinois death stare. You want
to run so I can chase you. You want to run now. Run. Now. RUN! Why aren’t you
running?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Banner bouncing enthusiastically: Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Me: Freeloader, here’s the deal. You’re welcome to stay.
There are two house rules. Number one, once you’re settled in, you win an
overnight trip to the vet. Number two, don’t run from the dogs. Ever. It's better that way. Trust me.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Freeloader: Are you crazy, woman? I’m not going anywhere
near those dogs. The big one drools when he looks at me and the little one
looks insane. Why does it keep bouncing up and down like that? Is something
wrong with it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Me: I don’t have time to explain. Phoenix, put your teeth
back in your mouth and quit staring at the cat. It makes him uncomfortable.
Banner, stop acting like a rabbit on crack.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Phoenix: He started it.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Banner: Like the kitty! Pretty kitty! Want to sniff it!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Me: He doesn’t want to sniff you, I’m pretty sure of that.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Freeloader: This place is an asylum. Can I get my meal to
go?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Phoenix: BARKBARKBARKBARKBARK!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Me: What is it now?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Phoenix: I thought I saw Freddie Krueger.<o:p></o:p></span>tervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-2695082036256526382014-12-30T17:50:00.001-08:002014-12-30T17:50:45.622-08:002014: the year in reviewOkay, here we go - the year in dogs and cats. And a few men in kilts. It doesn't cover everything I did in 2014 but it kind of hits the highlights.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhARuj6Q6MB0efjypYUgbXQ3TmtmJ0k9F-wSbUCLZNOgePESMg2SU3MS0x5fkQCn-olZXiISYgjVo22_H7vXvMQgi6wVWUO-evr0p0rAdEbvPB6YQz6ZxPQ4eTAW8Vb9AsQU9VV1pKq33o/s1600/1+Nix+snow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhARuj6Q6MB0efjypYUgbXQ3TmtmJ0k9F-wSbUCLZNOgePESMg2SU3MS0x5fkQCn-olZXiISYgjVo22_H7vXvMQgi6wVWUO-evr0p0rAdEbvPB6YQz6ZxPQ4eTAW8Vb9AsQU9VV1pKq33o/s1600/1+Nix+snow.jpg" height="257" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The year started with Polar Vortexes 1-6. <br />
Hibernation became a finely developed skill.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzbeOzus1hNjOwx3eSI8BsqACI6kDW6ACro0YUfNQZ_b2VGsYGSIC8aMt_lDUWRHyx_iN4_csYGer8ixgZHNYGR0oy01f1kmUonBj5CFJdYB7ti7LgDJN3RSgID7cc9pLPSR4GsCKjmoo/s1600/2+Jamie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzbeOzus1hNjOwx3eSI8BsqACI6kDW6ACro0YUfNQZ_b2VGsYGSIC8aMt_lDUWRHyx_iN4_csYGer8ixgZHNYGR0oy01f1kmUonBj5CFJdYB7ti7LgDJN3RSgID7cc9pLPSR4GsCKjmoo/s1600/2+Jamie.jpg" height="320" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I said goodbye to Jamie in February.<br />
Thank you, Big Red Dog, for 14 1/2 wonderful years.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPwZi4QPYSPzNjy_j2jFH6t2I5lYBkq0-nG3-rRyFUswwSPsSHspxKxc7ma0BvCd0gI3Tg-pnoMoDrZuXEdxxjXsXmkY1seJE6Hqjw5wlfsqH9MnCpNj_GOYNZ4UeR_Az3knE-1iJ6sg8/s1600/3+nix.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPwZi4QPYSPzNjy_j2jFH6t2I5lYBkq0-nG3-rRyFUswwSPsSHspxKxc7ma0BvCd0gI3Tg-pnoMoDrZuXEdxxjXsXmkY1seJE6Hqjw5wlfsqH9MnCpNj_GOYNZ4UeR_Az3knE-1iJ6sg8/s1600/3+nix.JPG" height="320" width="307" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everyone needs a Belgian turnover.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9d3FTc4o2xj_4OFx2Vc2xiN2vrTCtJuw5EBEZSZFzzJ32p0raGMECYbqquUWY7JN9y45kuefZcBHWozJwp_GG6icmCWNDfPOx0sH7YjG_rhoJflz2trig0E3K_8hnepq0GQfN9yZYxPs/s1600/4+bonus+cat.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9d3FTc4o2xj_4OFx2Vc2xiN2vrTCtJuw5EBEZSZFzzJ32p0raGMECYbqquUWY7JN9y45kuefZcBHWozJwp_GG6icmCWNDfPOx0sH7YjG_rhoJflz2trig0E3K_8hnepq0GQfN9yZYxPs/s1600/4+bonus+cat.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bonus Cat. Yes. He has the leash in his mouth.<br />
I have no idea why.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjImMJFSrmt9afeRHA7tLhj6Ukm4d-nySVn6AEZtUu601mlJ8-Gt0QYwt5U5ExMKGA815CEg3h1DbkqmeyISMzMHXBeCyB4i2REA4SgPeQaZpO01dxnhICzD-g3K7HVSAlPwE7fCRyZH5A/s1600/5+siren.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjImMJFSrmt9afeRHA7tLhj6Ukm4d-nySVn6AEZtUu601mlJ8-Gt0QYwt5U5ExMKGA815CEg3h1DbkqmeyISMzMHXBeCyB4i2REA4SgPeQaZpO01dxnhICzD-g3K7HVSAlPwE7fCRyZH5A/s1600/5+siren.JPG" height="320" width="271" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Siren. In a bucket. Where do you keep your cats?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwchMsX-WIk4Wy0toGPKoNDuAFsg8ZR2eEBYg5CtUJWdoQF6JvWDeyco1uf8eNI6jzCDbENbqnNv8f2DvZzotc2euIwwwZkRYQBU5pQqio3I1OQCsp4cp58V6atCojKm4mlaB6Sk180dk/s1600/6+Sons+of+the+mist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwchMsX-WIk4Wy0toGPKoNDuAFsg8ZR2eEBYg5CtUJWdoQF6JvWDeyco1uf8eNI6jzCDbENbqnNv8f2DvZzotc2euIwwwZkRYQBU5pQqio3I1OQCsp4cp58V6atCojKm4mlaB6Sk180dk/s1600/6+Sons+of+the+mist.jpg" height="271" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enjoyed the Iowa Renaissance Festival in May. It rained. Again.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwOtpCxtVF1dG0J5xGD3OcKW-TXDxo21xV-oOakVTNEG4AmyeoZnQschNUuWHzbUzYUavI0usl3OYiCmG0T9Ph2NKuTPAfd4NycV575zWVD4QyrW2U2GoR-QHycN8_pCj4T3Glc5y36v0/s1600/7+Banner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwOtpCxtVF1dG0J5xGD3OcKW-TXDxo21xV-oOakVTNEG4AmyeoZnQschNUuWHzbUzYUavI0usl3OYiCmG0T9Ph2NKuTPAfd4NycV575zWVD4QyrW2U2GoR-QHycN8_pCj4T3Glc5y36v0/s1600/7+Banner.jpg" height="264" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">CedarWoods Once Upon A Time "Banner" arrived in late July.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxvCh5NjnyP0GeBQKN7miwJ274xnAps4iOfvoP1csMp-wyjB746dHY2aLNvMAv8N0HXXewx4FTcumIToxhnfNe3FWh6h0PHRYuVxOlLNMVV02LCegL3R5FkVwzBryb82OaLnE_3r8p7y8/s1600/8+Bann+weezel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxvCh5NjnyP0GeBQKN7miwJ274xnAps4iOfvoP1csMp-wyjB746dHY2aLNvMAv8N0HXXewx4FTcumIToxhnfNe3FWh6h0PHRYuVxOlLNMVV02LCegL3R5FkVwzBryb82OaLnE_3r8p7y8/s1600/8+Bann+weezel.jpg" height="226" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Banner takes his inter-species relationships very seriously.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKfZkzh9tcU7dLrToXXEqPGcAtdnbbUF4juwH7lC5eqdHt8sgxnVWSJtJvTE1NhXU2aJKLiOYwhx60nm_ywRrFUBl-uotGrVdhnec1cuIApfyNDOgvIC6-ew_RnKv7WloT8gg2te5q6gE/s1600/9+Nix+sweeps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKfZkzh9tcU7dLrToXXEqPGcAtdnbbUF4juwH7lC5eqdHt8sgxnVWSJtJvTE1NhXU2aJKLiOYwhx60nm_ywRrFUBl-uotGrVdhnec1cuIApfyNDOgvIC6-ew_RnKv7WloT8gg2te5q6gE/s1600/9+Nix+sweeps.jpg" height="320" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Phoenix and I showed in sweeps at the ABMC regional in September.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3HuuCD38N18BUvUBaDZKmYfVCSvcrACnNX_laDp2_RouYpyruC8NKDCV7IJ4D5gn_4N_uFGObBMP8jbxc7lA5gugSk-VhtwlbvzdCv5oReKo0qB7xYt_ZPEMEeadSBIlsVYn6aOkZXBo/s1600/10+Banner+sit+@+heel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3HuuCD38N18BUvUBaDZKmYfVCSvcrACnNX_laDp2_RouYpyruC8NKDCV7IJ4D5gn_4N_uFGObBMP8jbxc7lA5gugSk-VhtwlbvzdCv5oReKo0qB7xYt_ZPEMEeadSBIlsVYn6aOkZXBo/s1600/10+Banner+sit+@+heel.jpg" height="320" width="283" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Let the games begin!</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaOumImATTBIXMBQNfWqRlFk2gbMbB0pJm1xZO6QF7F6cGKlpDybpO94OoaQ2IijaEl58dGI_2bJgZnONiVSB9dRzYFkinNlKMiPwMkVhgAK6WSocbc6famtj1gLQD9GbI0YOokrqiVDo/s1600/11+fangs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaOumImATTBIXMBQNfWqRlFk2gbMbB0pJm1xZO6QF7F6cGKlpDybpO94OoaQ2IijaEl58dGI_2bJgZnONiVSB9dRzYFkinNlKMiPwMkVhgAK6WSocbc6famtj1gLQD9GbI0YOokrqiVDo/s1600/11+fangs.jpg" height="320" width="290" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BFFs, showing fang.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifMBavs78OxT5dOkx2u2DSo_BseWAX6w1XKo8xS6yvaJG6Ujcd06L6hptaBWpdTNU5m6nqTSB4FyUvbaGTMqnmKxvB4fuFnXB1Wkg7KTHl3QDqeNa8WwNyiS-sYQTTJXp06NE-JPpXtQc/s1600/12+kilroy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifMBavs78OxT5dOkx2u2DSo_BseWAX6w1XKo8xS6yvaJG6Ujcd06L6hptaBWpdTNU5m6nqTSB4FyUvbaGTMqnmKxvB4fuFnXB1Wkg7KTHl3QDqeNa8WwNyiS-sYQTTJXp06NE-JPpXtQc/s1600/12+kilroy.jpg" height="320" width="302" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Objects in the camera viewfinder are closer than they appear.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbwNX1VrHQBPf7AlW9CEoktMBIdc7uXVjOHHSb_jCKWZ-dh2pZgfFJiNe9Hw51ltTr3szZ6ZCGyRfdKiN64hTi9IaHs-xqJlF-CZCMzzHevA3npUsZnrYc2w2LY4KKnO6ikIxJdvVr938/s1600/13+Bann+head+study.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbwNX1VrHQBPf7AlW9CEoktMBIdc7uXVjOHHSb_jCKWZ-dh2pZgfFJiNe9Hw51ltTr3szZ6ZCGyRfdKiN64hTi9IaHs-xqJlF-CZCMzzHevA3npUsZnrYc2w2LY4KKnO6ikIxJdvVr938/s1600/13+Bann+head+study.jpg" height="320" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Banner - 5 months</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgORt4rZhiT-moitKPbXAChlCuMrWYqaicpafmos75HdWx7IzjyrRQ85mzXJ7wT8qo1m1ukZl-QcaKbWgJa2jaU3kBIocWiD8upHvGlrodb_Uro5g6ucwTaLfLLj9QurWBZnH25-WGM_N4/s1600/14+flying+leap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgORt4rZhiT-moitKPbXAChlCuMrWYqaicpafmos75HdWx7IzjyrRQ85mzXJ7wT8qo1m1ukZl-QcaKbWgJa2jaU3kBIocWiD8upHvGlrodb_Uro5g6ucwTaLfLLj9QurWBZnH25-WGM_N4/s1600/14+flying+leap.jpg" height="199" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeah. They do this in the house, too.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJw_b0QKRy1XAcP_oD7iKELXRxsVGIJFA2W1f2AEYG1opeQymO5rgmUz-YKPunyyr6HlWj1By8qOSeVQBo-gtsCYYmhYI7szphr-A-p5O1c1M3o-al7OrfNdR8C8S2dkFEFUZ-EKKGF-g/s1600/15+costume.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJw_b0QKRy1XAcP_oD7iKELXRxsVGIJFA2W1f2AEYG1opeQymO5rgmUz-YKPunyyr6HlWj1By8qOSeVQBo-gtsCYYmhYI7szphr-A-p5O1c1M3o-al7OrfNdR8C8S2dkFEFUZ-EKKGF-g/s1600/15+costume.jpg" height="320" width="142" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting my ren faire on at Halloween.<br />
Yes, this was at a trial. Yes, I showed in it.<br />
No, Phoenix didn't care.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97e2MwCBBp2Oxk9sE6AlxvsUmJ0-M9AAWkr65ReQfQwyv09911lbDRcp_58iLJ5JlkOrZBm0DtVc84UEdViLKTJz1m04REBqJoyFEbPsMVD3HFSEHhg6_Ct7cXMsqQTU-GtbBmOWqPbk/s1600/16+crooked+heads.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97e2MwCBBp2Oxk9sE6AlxvsUmJ0-M9AAWkr65ReQfQwyv09911lbDRcp_58iLJ5JlkOrZBm0DtVc84UEdViLKTJz1m04REBqJoyFEbPsMVD3HFSEHhg6_Ct7cXMsqQTU-GtbBmOWqPbk/s1600/16+crooked+heads.jpg" height="234" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I get this look a lot.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyx4Em7LhULErU9B3RjMCx155KmOPx8eMzVCWTd7CTMe2ZwGtzqCpGbTQUDUacXcUfFk1cz6E30VrN4InPFkp5GeQYBg8czGjCuekGDfo_bV7Z-WKXtBPyHnt_LOuHYYzWc8Z2ywnxrr0/s1600/17+Nix+8+yrs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyx4Em7LhULErU9B3RjMCx155KmOPx8eMzVCWTd7CTMe2ZwGtzqCpGbTQUDUacXcUfFk1cz6E30VrN4InPFkp5GeQYBg8czGjCuekGDfo_bV7Z-WKXtBPyHnt_LOuHYYzWc8Z2ywnxrr0/s1600/17+Nix+8+yrs.JPG" height="320" width="215" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Phoenix turned 8 in December.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV9JhFcRyu4VDfgiv8thhqfzx_E1mZ4GeFzkc72pgsvKnFRxUv9EmFde92GVPtyLbAZ6vfEyUVCjMbC6sy968WGgq5c7IjgHJceH8Xiyy-kVnqsw9ij4j-EonPTxK6hO501M27CYpMQ9U/s1600/HIT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV9JhFcRyu4VDfgiv8thhqfzx_E1mZ4GeFzkc72pgsvKnFRxUv9EmFde92GVPtyLbAZ6vfEyUVCjMbC6sy968WGgq5c7IjgHJceH8Xiyy-kVnqsw9ij4j-EonPTxK6hO501M27CYpMQ9U/s1600/HIT.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We got closer to our goals.<br />
<br />
Wishing you and your loved ones all the best in the new year.</td></tr>
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<br />tervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-44015354886486747202014-12-16T12:45:00.000-08:002014-12-16T12:48:56.213-08:00The Farmer and the dogsOver the years, the Farmer and I have had a number of interesting conversations about the dogs. Since Banner's arrival, these have not diminished.<br />
<br />
Farmer: Why does Banner smell different than Phoenix?<br />
<br />
Me: I don't know. What does Banner smell like?<br />
<br />
Farmer: A dog.<br />
<br />
Me (confused): And what does Phoenix smell like?<br />
<br />
Farmer: Phoenix doesn't smell.<br />
<br />
When I posted this on Facebook, it led to a spirited conversation among friends, the resulting conclusion of which (besides the fact we had all stopped what we were doing to go sniff our dogs) was individual dogs have their own scents and as their lifelong companions, we humans are able to detect these and differentiate between dogs, based on their particular smells.<br />
<br />
And the Farmer was right. Phoenix doesn't smell. He is the most odor neutral dog I've ever lived with. Even the scent of shampoo or coat spray disappears within hours after a bath.<br />
<br />
Banner, on the other hand, is very adept at finding substances to apply to his coat, which apparently retains every odor it has ever encountered.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
And then there's training.<br />
<br />
Farmer, to Banner: Sit.<br />
<br />
Banner looks at him and wags his butt.<br />
<br />
Farmer: Sit!<br />
<br />
More wagging. No sitting.<br />
<br />
While I know this drives some trainers insane, it doesn't really bother me. When I tell my dogs to sit, they sit. Since the Farmer doesn't show them and isn't likely to start any time soon, he can tell them to do whatever he wants and whether he follows through is totally up to him. I suspect the dogs know this and tend to yank his chain by acting blissfully oblivious.<br />
<br />
But by the third "Sit!" I decided to intervene.<br />
<br />
Me: He's not 100% reliable on a verbal. It helps to give a hand signal, too.<br />
<br />
Farmer, raising his right hand: Sit.<br />
<br />
No sit.<br />
<br />
Me: Um . . . that's the "down" hand. Try it with your left hand.<br />
<br />
Farmer, raising left hand: Sit!<br />
<br />
Banner's butt hits the ground.<br />
<br />
Farmer laughs, gives him a treat and says, "Huh. Didn't know he was left-handed."<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
Banner was sitting on the Farmer's lap one evening while we were watching TV.<br />
<br />
Farmer: You sure are a pretty dog. You look just like Connor. Yep, you and Connor look exactly alike.<br />
<br />
(Editor's note: Connor was my tricolor sheltie. He's been gone for 5 years.)<br />
<br />
I gave him my best "Seriously?" look.<br />
<br />
Farmer: Except your nose isn't as long.<br />
<br />
More hairy eyeball.<br />
<br />
Farmer: And your ears hang down.<br />
<br />
Hairy eyeball combines with arched eyebrow.<br />
<br />
Farmer: And you don't have a tail.<br />
<br />
Hairy eyeball, arched eyebrows and stink-eye.<br />
<br />
Farmer: Oh all right. You're black!<br />
<br />tervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-47493602961927418412014-12-09T11:06:00.002-08:002014-12-09T11:16:34.526-08:00Toys and dead things: ne'er the twain shall meetSo I was online, shopping for toys for the dogs. Because heaven knows, Phoenix and Banner don't have enough toys. <br />
<br />
I had in mind a couple of new things I wanted to get for Banner because he is continuing his "I am not a malinois" campaign and that extends to toy preference and play style. Even though he is all about tugging and playing, he really does not care for Phoenix's french linen tugs or jute bite sticks. He's not ball crazy, either - yet - but I am cautiously optimistic on that front.<br />
<br />
He likes to bite soft things. Because he is mummy's darling furry little marshmallow puff sweetums. Who bites like a rabid badger on crack. But only soft things. I don't know if this preference will change as he gets older but at six months, he shows a deranged joy in biting and tugging things with the consistency of Smartwool socks and fleece jacket sleeves. The softer, the better.<br />
<br />
This extends to dead mice, rats and birds. I know this because the cats have been bringing their kills into the yard all fall and depositing them for my inspection. This is a new development and one I am not encouraging but the cats do not understand my reluctance to admire their hunting prowess. Banner, however, is overjoyed by the endless smorgasbord of dead critters. This tends to not end well.<br />
<br />
Picture a middle-aged woman trying frantically to extricate a dead rodent from the jaws of a puppy who is gleefully munching on it while racing around the yard with said dead rodent tail hanging out of his mouth. Yeah. It's a good thing our closest neighbor is the Farmer's mother and she knows her daughter-in-law is a little . . . different.<br />
<br />
I've spent the last couple of months prying slobbery, slimy deceased little carcasses out of Banner's mouth on a regular basis. To date, I think he's only eaten one. That I know about. <br />
<br />
He still won't drop anything on command. He figures if I want a dead rat that bad I can go get my own. On the bright side, now when he has a dead varmint in his mouth, he WILL come when he's called, then stands in front of me with his jaws clamped tightly shut and little feet or tails sticking out the side of his mouth.<br />
<br />
So with that in mind, I'm browsing one of my favorite online purveyors of all things dog, looking for simple braided fleece tugs when what to my wondering eyes should appear but . . . toys made out of dead things.<br />
<br />
Seriously.<br />
<br />
Critter fur is all the rage on the toy scene these days.<br />
<br />
Rabbit fur. Raccoon fur. Sheep fur (okay, wool). Cow hide with fur attached. Cow fur? Really?<br />
<br />
There are all kinds of fur-enhanced toys out there, intended to drive your dog into paroxysms of joy by their smell and texture. There are toys wrapped in critter fur, toys with fur hidden inside them, toys with fur braided throughout and toys made entirely of fur.<br />
<br />
Not on my watch. Nosireebob.<br />
<br />
I am not spending my toy budget on pieces of dead animals. I spend too much time prying the real thing out of the Aussie Jaws of Death. (Oddly enough, Phoenix wants little to do with the pre-killed varmints that turn up in our lawn. If he can't participate in the killing, he's not interested.)<br />
<br />
Besides, Banner can be driven into paroxysms of joy by the smell and texture of a dirty sock. <br />
<br />
There are already a few of the damn fur enhanced toys (or what is left of them) in various toy boxes through our house, purchased in moments of weakness before I knew better. They're the sort of thing that I saw at a vendor's booth and thought, oh COOL, my dogs will LOVE this! Must buy!<br />
<br />
What was I thinking? Do you know what one of those lovely fluffy rabbit fur-and-fleece tugs looks like after 5 minutes of active play with an easily stimulated dog?<br />
<br />
You got it - exactly like the mangled, slobber-soaked dead things I've been prying out of canine jaws all fall.<br />
<br />
And if the slime factor wasn't enough, both Phoenix and Banner will halt the play if given a chance and commence with single-minded, full-scale destruction of the furry part.<br />
<br />
"Excuse me while I rip this pesky varmint to pieces. Please excuse the maniacal gleam in my eye while I systematically shred a $20 bill in front of your eyes. Okay. Done. You were saying?"<br />
<br />
I admire people whose dogs can play with those tugs without reducing them to a dripping saliva rope. I just don't have one. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />tervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-37958733883783857672014-12-01T18:37:00.001-08:002014-12-01T18:37:31.331-08:00UpdatesFor the last month I kept telling myself I'd write when I had time to take pictures to post, too. That didn't happen and doesn't show any sign of happening. Autumn flew by and now it's winter. So I'm writing. No pics. Deal with it.<br />
<br />
Banner celebrated his half birthday about a week ago. He's six months old now, about 19.5 inches at the withers and I have no clue what he weighs but it can't be much because he spends a lot of time flying through the air like a bird. He's charming, sweet, funny, furry and very, very bouncy.<br />
<br />
He's got a bouncy recall, bouncy heads-up heeling (providing nothing else is going on) and is learning to take and hold a dumbbell (bouncing optional at this point but I suspect he'll find a way to incorporate it before we're done). Phoenix's dumbbell is a pretty good fit for him - which is a little scary, since it was Jamie's dumbbell first. He doesn't mind having his toenails trimmed. He thinks baths are a Very Bad Idea. He likes sticks, cats, riding in the Gator, chewing on everything, chase games and pretty much everyone he has ever met.<br />
<br />
A friend asked me how he compares to Phoenix.<br />
<br />
Wow. How do you compare razor wire and marshmallow fluff? Phoenix is all sharp lines and angles and lean, hard muscle. Banner is softness and curves and fluff. They are opposite ends of the spectrum both physically and mentally. I am so blessed to have two such wonderful dogs!<br />
<br />
Um . . . comparison . . . yeah . . . I bleed a lot less when I train Banner. Honestly, that might be the biggest difference. My hands don't look like someone stuck them into a chipper-grinder, which is generally how they looked for the first year with Phoenix. I don't have as many holes in my clothes and I don't have mysterious bruises on odd parts of my body.<br />
<br />
They do share a few characteristics: that bright, pushy, busy herding dog world view, always interested in whatever I'm doing and quick with the "WTF?" look when I ask for something that they find completely unreasonable.<br />
<br />
I'm having a wonderful time training Banner's foundation exercises. I'm not rushing anything. I'm not pushing anything. There are no deadlines. He doesn't "have" to learn anything until he's good and ready.<br />
<br />
He's still figuring out how to live in a body that changes almost daily as he keeps growing. Heel work at this point is mostly learning to trot around with his head up. We're working stays and impulse control and rear-end awareness and how to bring a ball back when I throw it. Banner loves toys and playing but he wasn't a natural retriever like my previous dogs have been.<br />
<br />
I'm trying hard to make my criteria clear and help him understand that effort will be rewarded, even if it's not perfect. I'm getting better at knowing when to ask for more and not getting stuck at a plateau or just "settling."<br />
<br />
In the meantime, teaching house manners remains a full-time job.<br />
<br />
The Farmer says "Your dog has no manners." That's not entirely true. He has manners. They're just bad. Banner is convinced that if he puts his paws on the kitchen counter 100 times and gets scolded 100 times, that the 101st time will be the magic number when he's allowed to grab whatever is up there. He's nothing if not determined.<br />
<br />
Phoenix and Banner are definitely besties now. Phoenix is beyond tolerant with his furry, bouncy little brother. Day after day he amazes me with remarkable patience. He's paying it forward, for all the craziness Jamie tolerated from him.<br />
<br />
I hope it won't be a month before the next update!<br />
<br />
<br />tervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-50977052196306612962014-10-25T12:36:00.000-07:002014-10-25T12:36:00.004-07:00Life, death, sunshine and dogsOn Tuesday morning, a co-worker found our boss dead on her office floor at the newspaper. She had been working late the previous night and had a heart attack. She was 54, a kind, generous person who was patient with us, often beyond reason. I got to work about 5 minutes after the ambulance, EMTs, two sheriff's deputies and local police chief arrived. My "job" was standing outside the office door, telling co-workers what happened as they arrived.<br />
<br />
Her funeral was this morning. It's a lovely October day, cool and breezy with lots of sunshine. Diane was a loyal University of Iowa Hawkeyes fan. They played the Iowa fight song at the end of the funeral. The Hawkeyes have a bye week, so no football game today. Good thing. We laughed that Diane would come back and haunt anyone who planned her funeral the same day as a home game in Iowa City.<br />
<br />
Afterward and I spent a couple of hours outdoors with Phoenix and Banner. Not training. Not doing anything in particular. I got my camera and sat in the grass and watched them play. I tried out Banner's brand new sit/stay to take some head shots. They were easier to take than the running-amuck-with-a-ball shots but not really as much fun.<br />
<br />
I'll share them, just because they are full of joy and the beauty of being alive on an autumn afternoon.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv2khEmxUfQ35G7Og6FGP8x62tO-T41vZlVeiOUoOCfeWXc3A1XEnnCv7BvZrRvFtZtV6l7h2KFUWHZBlLsxX8qzcK3hhK6Ltnovb2swHzG-soOWKBgItQLsuryuAflzSCPwHjKcPa-q8/s1600/patio+table.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv2khEmxUfQ35G7Og6FGP8x62tO-T41vZlVeiOUoOCfeWXc3A1XEnnCv7BvZrRvFtZtV6l7h2KFUWHZBlLsxX8qzcK3hhK6Ltnovb2swHzG-soOWKBgItQLsuryuAflzSCPwHjKcPa-q8/s1600/patio+table.jpg" height="248" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just because he can.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3NykybhtbGj4DFkBfGDzofoma7BpeJ6Z7jDkmhICGunyHXiPbqe5OZgHJw82Wnzex4GbuDaObeSGxPsugNxgZPv3a2xdC_KW11F5U0Khkka0UQadWv1qMEfhAF51RDf36y-Tk3ReKUDc/s1600/with+Siren.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3NykybhtbGj4DFkBfGDzofoma7BpeJ6Z7jDkmhICGunyHXiPbqe5OZgHJw82Wnzex4GbuDaObeSGxPsugNxgZPv3a2xdC_KW11F5U0Khkka0UQadWv1qMEfhAF51RDf36y-Tk3ReKUDc/s1600/with+Siren.jpg" height="270" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hello, love. Come here often?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNf4bnIaHdkpR__xQq0Odv0M8Z4VB2GM0T01QkE5wx-bdZ660zCtuVmOAJgd-bqoczAwlL6QksmygXUokzGX0BUuWTQAhsxX6ubLa51PjTcWQ7NT-KbhTzC5L3YJ5wRbm8665XQid6TWU/s1600/head2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNf4bnIaHdkpR__xQq0Odv0M8Z4VB2GM0T01QkE5wx-bdZ660zCtuVmOAJgd-bqoczAwlL6QksmygXUokzGX0BUuWTQAhsxX6ubLa51PjTcWQ7NT-KbhTzC5L3YJ5wRbm8665XQid6TWU/s1600/head2.jpg" height="320" width="271" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look! Proper ears! Without tape!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt1KW4PVctXhJPGvo46qZcQ70TqjMP9qdDrl87totZUvUZLsW549GnJcEG0gcBz_UpgcO2l8ryMc326BGziiafMouakXUIT1VWAPjOdYmGkTaVyIUvk3hJETTGkO1gto6dqCxT8m1RXLI/s1600/head3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt1KW4PVctXhJPGvo46qZcQ70TqjMP9qdDrl87totZUvUZLsW549GnJcEG0gcBz_UpgcO2l8ryMc326BGziiafMouakXUIT1VWAPjOdYmGkTaVyIUvk3hJETTGkO1gto6dqCxT8m1RXLI/s1600/head3.jpg" height="320" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ears! Seriously! I'm absurdly excited about this!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRkXkDj-MwH0wWgmPuCIUaASHShofIZK1qN5jN-ZwRTt9CtLoIrkcLYVhqBAFm88rQDnc0sVwQRnx0OqSr_T7x8dHYDV351TYwA1xqtxUNpx5coQu4egdzsNzHDPTvU9CNDvmzuqC1ad8/s1600/chase+ball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRkXkDj-MwH0wWgmPuCIUaASHShofIZK1qN5jN-ZwRTt9CtLoIrkcLYVhqBAFm88rQDnc0sVwQRnx0OqSr_T7x8dHYDV351TYwA1xqtxUNpx5coQu4egdzsNzHDPTvU9CNDvmzuqC1ad8/s1600/chase+ball.jpg" height="313" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wingardium Aussiosa!<br />(Harry Potter fans will get it. The rest of you muggles have to figure it out yourselves.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQwVzkUZGNiPlsdD_O18V923sj0w9K2OwqQzT1xtfG0YGQygUG7DMmLmbc2W6jZnNb7ckdtHoRaxZZU82KSbDQNVA5olChJuWOeiFq2N-u-BFhUuy6Yw4f-aCepfohZ43UtslWXRrR-BU/s1600/Siren.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQwVzkUZGNiPlsdD_O18V923sj0w9K2OwqQzT1xtfG0YGQygUG7DMmLmbc2W6jZnNb7ckdtHoRaxZZU82KSbDQNVA5olChJuWOeiFq2N-u-BFhUuy6Yw4f-aCepfohZ43UtslWXRrR-BU/s1600/Siren.jpg" height="320" width="253" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lady Siren</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />tervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-89752596836917951642014-10-12T06:53:00.002-07:002014-10-12T06:53:58.568-07:00Updates on thingsGentle readers, I have been horribly remiss in keeping this blog up to date. A combination of Big Changes at work, plus harvest season at home plus the general chaos that is life with two dogs (especially when one of them is a puppy) has rendered my brain incapable of thinking much beyond the immediate needs of the present.<br />
<br />
Banner is now almost 5 months old. He graduated from a local puppy class in September and was voted Most Likely To Succeed. It was a very fun puppy class, albeit totally focussed on home obedience. This translates to "it doesn't matter HOW the puppy sits, just get him to sit."<br />
<br />
There's nothing wrong with that but I caught the two instructors giving me The Look as I worked to get a fast, straight, tight, tucked sit with Banner while the rest of the class was waving cookies in the air and shouting "SitSitSit!" It was clear after the first session that I had been pegged as "One Of THOSE People."<br />
<br />
Again, not a bad thing - I knew when I signed up for the class that it was not a competition based class and I didn't care. At that time, Phoenix was making it clear that he wanted NOTHING to do with his new brother and I wanted to have Banner around friendly puppies his own age at least once a week so he didn't grow up thinking all dogs were snarky asses.<br />
<br />
As luck would have it, the ink was barely dry on the three-digit check (holy crap, when did puppy classes get so expensive?) when Phoenix decided Banner was the coolest thing ever and they became best buds.<br />
<br />
The class was good for Banner and I on several different levels. Beyond the obvious "meet new people and make new friends and let Banner play with adorable puppies his own size," it gave me a chance to work with him in an extremely challenging environment and establish interaction with me as more rewarding than interaction with other puppies.<br />
<br />
Some nights this went better than others, which I expected. I didn't feel badly about allowing him to play with the other puppies in the course of the evening. After all, he IS a puppy! With the class behind us, and with Banner having shown me that he is socially and environmentally confident, I'm backing off on letting him play immediately with every friendly dog we encounter.<br />
<br />
This is hard.<br />
<br />
I love to watch dogs play. I love to watch their subtle body language. Dogs who play together frequently are masters as reading one another. Their play is a choreography of leaping, chasing, pausing and spinning. It's fun to watch. It makes me smile.<br />
<br />
I don't mind that Banner plays with Phoenix at home. They are pack mates. But I don't want Banner thinking that classes and shows are a never-ending playground where he gets to entertain himself by romping with every dog he encounters.<br />
<br />
And ignoring me in the process.<br />
<br />
At 5 months, knowing that Banner is a sound, confident, socially adept little guy, it's time to reduce the amount of reinforcement he gets from playing with other dogs and being cuddled and cookied by other people. If I want ME to be his primary reinforcement in life in general and at obedience trials in particular, I can't continue to let him treat the world as his own private theme park where he gets everything he wants just because he wants it.<br />
<br />
Yes, he will still get to play with other dogs from time to time. Yes, I will let other people pet him and give him cookies. Good heavens, I'm not the Obedience Nazi. I don't live in a world where other people are never allowed to interact with my dog because heaven forbid, if you give him a cookie he might not listen to me in the ring!<br />
<br />
Dogs are social creatures and I have never required my dogs to live in isolation. I like seeing them interact with my friends and I like to interact with my friends' dogs. But now those things need to come with requirements - wait to be released to go visit, work with me a little longer before I release you, play with me even though people are walking into the building, etc.<br />
<br />
One thing I was very pleased with during the puppy class was Bann's ability to work with me amidst the chaos of other puppies running amuck. No, he wasn't 100% perfect but did a good job of choosing me over them most of the time. I don't think I'm more fun than another puppy, when it comes right down to it, but I DO control the things that he wants and I'm kinda fun in the process. And he's figuring that out.<br />
<br />
I'm on vacation this coming week and hope to write more about Bann's training. As I'm writing this, he and Phoenix are rolling around on the floor by my chair, playing bitey face. Apparently the goal is to see how much of your brother's head you can put in your mouth at any given time. Yeah, Phoenix is winning. Banner seems delighted.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />tervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-77202593223776392592014-09-26T13:19:00.002-07:002014-09-26T13:21:50.171-07:00Banner 101Several people have asked me about Banner's name. So here we go. <br />
<br />
I only know one other canine Banner. He is a malinois who belongs to Phoenix's breeder on the West Coast. I thought the dog (and the name) were cool when I met them 7 years ago and the name has been bouncing around in my head since then. I believe Catherine's Banner was born on July 4 and was named after the "Star Spangled Banner."<br />
<br />
I like literary names for my dogs - anything tie in with book characters, book titles or the print news media. My very first dog was named after a character in a Little Golden Book, "The Poky Little Puppy." And so it goes.<br />
<br />
Are you familiar with the concept of banner headlines in newspapers? They're the sort of thing that if you do them, they kinda need to be correct. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIi5zv1c3jeaM4sL4y0z7A7jhGLJ2_17Vfk6iWvt9ua5Bq-aYWuPiisxPhQp4Ux0aMJQGiQVDr95dxcs4v7INjPdUEutb7xci69IQMdNUDQNgIYVkJxi85YIhfWk2QQU7bCUTd14Wv5XI/s1600/Truman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIi5zv1c3jeaM4sL4y0z7A7jhGLJ2_17Vfk6iWvt9ua5Bq-aYWuPiisxPhQp4Ux0aMJQGiQVDr95dxcs4v7INjPdUEutb7xci69IQMdNUDQNgIYVkJxi85YIhfWk2QQU7bCUTd14Wv5XI/s1600/Truman.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That didn't work out so well for Dewey.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
"Dewey Defeats Truman" was an famously incorrect banner headline on the
front page of the Chicago Tribune on Nov. 3, 1948, after U.S. President
Harry S. Truman won an upset victory over challenger and Governor of New
York, Thomas Dewey. Sometimes it really is a good idea to verify your facts.<br />
<br />
Other banner headlines make you wonder what the editor was drinking. Although some days the newsroom is like that . . .<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1JMvG6g_DO7qrx4v_4Pdk09wUifkgVWnfZWEaPv5A7gTj6KcDvPcJWwfh2lRTrSK3e7a383cZek8tOt_5wJEUMLZgF3uD8pDg9cUNbvafINcN92N5sz54_-R-iri57RAE5qkS6_AWuSM/s1600/Diana.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1JMvG6g_DO7qrx4v_4Pdk09wUifkgVWnfZWEaPv5A7gTj6KcDvPcJWwfh2lRTrSK3e7a383cZek8tOt_5wJEUMLZgF3uD8pDg9cUNbvafINcN92N5sz54_-R-iri57RAE5qkS6_AWuSM/s1600/Diana.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's always good to confirm people are alive before they die.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Banners are traditionally made of cloth and proclaim a heraldic status as it relates to a family, clan or tribe. This is a very fine banner.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9JTmQjT4qaoZb_N_oGQ6VfFGVXgv_6wC_eu9DBSLPR5jzf-9bZTZhjVmyh1q87MGOknq6oH39G7ZlsOdKxHer5bzBZvQLptIi4ScutmLFHgz7nMcDexl7mogoit-mP-rgUbezCkre8O0/s1600/ISU.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9JTmQjT4qaoZb_N_oGQ6VfFGVXgv_6wC_eu9DBSLPR5jzf-9bZTZhjVmyh1q87MGOknq6oH39G7ZlsOdKxHer5bzBZvQLptIi4ScutmLFHgz7nMcDexl7mogoit-mP-rgUbezCkre8O0/s1600/ISU.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Go State!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Banner the Aussie is pleased to be named for the banner men of House Stark in the Game of Thrones. Not a GoT fan? Grab the first book, pull up a chair and cancel your social engagements for the next six weeks. Or you can just catch the series on HBO, which includes a lot of really gorgeous costumes that the characters spend a lot of time taking off.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1LlYQGUSvUFNqd99uFbyxklA_0d6_r6vT-5Cl-ZKQPGbORD_mLkLYhVyFK_T64JvPmjxolbT2rTIGDPWHZ-ifW23BOzFsJz24Bnmjs8bucvNW_36W5pYZHK3a2fG_wo4WzFLjrMQ7GQs/s1600/House+stark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1LlYQGUSvUFNqd99uFbyxklA_0d6_r6vT-5Cl-ZKQPGbORD_mLkLYhVyFK_T64JvPmjxolbT2rTIGDPWHZ-ifW23BOzFsJz24Bnmjs8bucvNW_36W5pYZHK3a2fG_wo4WzFLjrMQ7GQs/s1600/House+stark.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Banner man of House Stark, riding off to do battle somewhere in Westeros.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Banner looks nothing like a direwolf, even though one of his ears has totally gone whackadoodle at the moment.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVY1s1CHA2n0_MsE1cJnq7sE6sOKRM8Z7XNteHa7AwylJkYNgllT4Y8MNoqmxChvtw6ZlF2jMMIlshFvl0nJEjwTzXbJ5zEzn1j1HyUiSKv-u_P8pLJE0bA5Omq8ULR35PA6Y5QVNo-Fk/s1600/Winter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVY1s1CHA2n0_MsE1cJnq7sE6sOKRM8Z7XNteHa7AwylJkYNgllT4Y8MNoqmxChvtw6ZlF2jMMIlshFvl0nJEjwTzXbJ5zEzn1j1HyUiSKv-u_P8pLJE0bA5Omq8ULR35PA6Y5QVNo-Fk/s1600/Winter.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is forecast brought to you by the direwolf, sigil of House Stark.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />tervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-90756276989574511692014-09-21T14:18:00.000-07:002014-09-21T14:18:17.044-07:00An update from the zooReports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.<br />
<br />
No. Seriously.<br />
<br />
Several of you, gentle readers, have expressed concern that I had dropped from the face of the blogosphere.<br />
<br />
Thank you. I appreciate it. I've had a frustrating lack of time to post lately.<br />
<br />
Not to put too fine an edge on it, but work the last couple of weeks has left me not wanting to even look at a computer when I get home, the Farmer keeps finding all kinds of things for me to do to help him (he thinks he's helping me de-stress from the office) and the Belgian/Australian contingent takes up every remaining waking moment and a few sleeping ones, too. Then there's the matter of meals, laundry, groceries . . . I need a house elf!<br />
<br />
Banner is 4 months old now. I would love to write about his training and all the stuff he's learning (and I will) but on a cool breezy September afternoon, it's more fun to sit in the yard with a camera. (More fun, but decidedly less safe.)<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjHe5FqImkHdzpC42dlYY_aibcxN53zbI37w5-L3NCRPomWk9DbrwNGL0OWTDxLaWz08CojkEgBJALwjVWtB5q93pznTwMwBeXelWj0sS2b4IZf6ydecDlaeICCo2PC_tNQSXPy7p3ERs/s1600/chase.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjHe5FqImkHdzpC42dlYY_aibcxN53zbI37w5-L3NCRPomWk9DbrwNGL0OWTDxLaWz08CojkEgBJALwjVWtB5q93pznTwMwBeXelWj0sS2b4IZf6ydecDlaeICCo2PC_tNQSXPy7p3ERs/s1600/chase.jpg" height="193" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Do not step in front of a moving malinois. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQA33DJbsbQrEJM5e7_BiJ0jIFxlCJC0BMOlne9wkyILNFlNzMBstR5fZnfYC7F9A1vQ_uh4riEVp-rWIQZLVvmRXjSudKQcNyvauJ_4MxvoOIMuVLNmmb65ZGRijloAvckWAJ-KZEY58/s1600/fangs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQA33DJbsbQrEJM5e7_BiJ0jIFxlCJC0BMOlne9wkyILNFlNzMBstR5fZnfYC7F9A1vQ_uh4riEVp-rWIQZLVvmRXjSudKQcNyvauJ_4MxvoOIMuVLNmmb65ZGRijloAvckWAJ-KZEY58/s1600/fangs.jpg" height="320" width="290" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kid, my teeth are bigger than yours and yours are falling out.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYJaNgDHQ-jw33pQalE5JtuOb8p1PHncblP_DUZlm2f1LI4zTLrOiQqDkfsWdZG0uCVvj4UlgQr4tIBlG3Z2fDv5shBfW1LbhM2c1TaUKJRi4MLl8pnP1rkRHeP8mtJKRN7buaSOykAl8/s1600/feel+the+love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYJaNgDHQ-jw33pQalE5JtuOb8p1PHncblP_DUZlm2f1LI4zTLrOiQqDkfsWdZG0uCVvj4UlgQr4tIBlG3Z2fDv5shBfW1LbhM2c1TaUKJRi4MLl8pnP1rkRHeP8mtJKRN7buaSOykAl8/s1600/feel+the+love.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hey Phoenix, remember all those times you grabbed Jamie<br />by the ruff and hung on? What comes around, goes around, buddy.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSnNthyLiB1QaHoNf5tosJ_DjaEbIVCu28E4LMXxcr90Gcwb63jhChZy2ywZhyRYsf4Qo2IwOHVIsQIz31Jf0CqGl3hY_11lDqD_2J_0iG-tts7owM4w92JsEEu2TULJM1RXuTk84xrjA/s1600/flying+leap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSnNthyLiB1QaHoNf5tosJ_DjaEbIVCu28E4LMXxcr90Gcwb63jhChZy2ywZhyRYsf4Qo2IwOHVIsQIz31Jf0CqGl3hY_11lDqD_2J_0iG-tts7owM4w92JsEEu2TULJM1RXuTk84xrjA/s1600/flying+leap.jpg" height="199" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A picture is worth a thousand words.<br />I'm just not sure what this one says.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtfGJWe7ryvD5fTylJkF588cTMnV5FtC2PgxVuBsOY1BoorBWL2BS_bE8gQO_dSLMExV72u6wszI50j9VcUSvOiDgmfVFsXnC1ORtqX_WUHzlLNYDjA_2eR1Y1sCNfTVys1S_RXK5hSJw/s1600/out+of+focus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtfGJWe7ryvD5fTylJkF588cTMnV5FtC2PgxVuBsOY1BoorBWL2BS_bE8gQO_dSLMExV72u6wszI50j9VcUSvOiDgmfVFsXnC1ORtqX_WUHzlLNYDjA_2eR1Y1sCNfTVys1S_RXK5hSJw/s1600/out+of+focus.jpg" height="247" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My camera has auto focus.<br />It really does.<br />I swear.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdmuRxmMRnfqhtKFsMfwKAedBVyeUhc0Lz-HltbwRXQhmh2fsCe5nvVtwHbjgcFngULDTCdFW1BYr1y0r7UbAEGbsBdEruGNfi-U4xFUCjhBiT7XejC5BA0hngV_pDLY8V5KmagtXYsBQ/s1600/kilroy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdmuRxmMRnfqhtKFsMfwKAedBVyeUhc0Lz-HltbwRXQhmh2fsCe5nvVtwHbjgcFngULDTCdFW1BYr1y0r7UbAEGbsBdEruGNfi-U4xFUCjhBiT7XejC5BA0hngV_pDLY8V5KmagtXYsBQ/s1600/kilroy.jpg" height="320" width="302" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No photographers were injured in the shooting of these pictures.<br />Although there were several near misses.</td></tr>
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<br />tervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-30106446901046042252014-09-04T13:24:00.002-07:002014-09-04T13:28:34.339-07:00Phoenix's breed ring adventureOver Labor Day weekend, I showed Phoenix in veterans and working sweepstakes at the ABMC regional at the Five Seasons Cluster in Amana, Iowa. It was his first (and honestly, probably last) time in the breed ring but it was fun.<br />
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By the time we were done running around the ring and up and back across the ring, Phoenix had decided that in spite of the judge holding her hands centered against her body as we returned to her, she really did not want him to do a front.<br />
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HUGE thanks to Sheryl McCormick and her mad photography skills for capturing the moment. The Skinny Li'l Dog cleans up pretty well.<br />
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We're back in my comfort zone (the obedience ring) for the rest of the fall.<br />
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<br />tervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-60838810971898683902014-09-03T12:48:00.002-07:002014-09-03T12:52:49.563-07:00You CAN fix anything with duct tapeWhen I got my first sheltie, Jess, I had no idea you had to do stuff to Sheltie ears to keep them from sticking up. So I didn’t. And they did.<br />
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By the time I got Connor, I had wised up and spent the next 11 months being crafty with moleskin and duct tape to ensure a perfect ear set. I got lots of help from people who actually knew what they were doing and in spite of numerous false starts and discombobulated efforts, Connor’s ears didn’t turn out half bad. <br />
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This might not be a marketable skill but I was proud of my ability to hold a squirmy puppy while adhering ear braces that would not only last longer than it took to put them in but perform well enough to ensure the puppy’s ears were well set on his head and properly tipped. I could usually get an ear brace to last at least a week, depending on which dogs Connor got to play with during that time. He had one PWD friend who specialized in ear brace removal. <br />
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When I got the Belgians, ear worries generally went out the window. I spent Jamie's and Phoenix’s puppyhoods watching their ears flop this way and that, then miraculously overnight, spring upward and stay there with no assistance from me.<br />
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By the time Banner arrived, I had happily retreated into ear oblivion, only to be snapped out of it by people repeatedly asking me if I was going to “do his ears.” I hadn't really thought about it. Accidentally. On purpose.<br />
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When one of my blog pics showed Bann’s ears flying around at oddball angles, his breeder tactfully suggested I needed to “do ears.” Sigh. It was time to dust off yet another one of the skills that would leave the Farmer scratching his head and saying, "You're going to do WHAT?"<br />
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Banner may or may not have a breed ring career. It's not my first priority but you never know where life will lead. I didn't want to look at him at 16 months and think, geez, wish I'd paid more attention to his ears when he was little. Obedience trainers often suffer enough guilt over things gone wrong without adding ear remorse to the list.<br />
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Debi had shown me the accepted method of taping Aussie ears and let me tell you, it looked a darn sight easier than the engineering schematic for bracing sheltie ears. It basically involved one long piece of duct tape running from the inside of the ear leather under the chin up to the inside of the other ear leather. How hard could this be? I got out my duct tape and got to work.<br />
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Fifteen minutes later I had duct tape stuck in a variety of places on my skin, my clothes, the kitchen table, the kitchen floor and in Banner’s ears. In the latter, it was actually some semblance of where it belonged. I admired my handiwork. All right then.<br />
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Banner gave me a baleful look (I would say a hateful look but he is entirely too sweet of a puppy for that) and immediately started trying to remove the duct tape. I must have done a pretty good job because that tape job stayed put. When it finally came out, days later, his ear set was very pretty but the inside of his ear flaps were full of sticky duct tape gunk that defied being removed. Well, yuck.<br />
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Having been cautioned to keep his ears braced during the teething period (which is amping up into full chomping mode as we speak) I decided I would try gluing them next. Surely that would be easier. And much tidier. No icky, sticky duct tape residue. What could go wrong?<br />
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Having procured a bottle of Tear Mender glue, the label of which assured me it was “Fast Drying!” I plopped Banner in the Farmer’s lap with admonitions to “Hold the puppy” and set to work. The object was to glue the tips of his ears to his cheeks to ensure the ear leather was shaped downward, not sideways.<br />
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It soon became evident that directions to “Hold the puppy” were subject to the same loose interpretation as those to “Watch the puppy.” Banner was doing his best to present a moving target and the Farmer seemed to think that as long as the two of them were occupying the same chair, this constituted “holding still.”<br />
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By some miracle (probably the element of surprise) I got Banner’s first ear glued to his cheek without too much fuss. I was admiring my handiwork when I realized, with sinking heart, that now I had to get the other one to match.<br />
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I am not good at getting things to match. Trimming ears on my shelties and Jamie was a process that involved a great deal of lip-biting and critical scrutiny while the dogs tried to retract their ears into their skulls. I could trim one ear to perfection, no problem. Getting the other one to match was something else. This often involved trimming “just a little bit more” and “no, wait, just a little bit more,” until the ears in question looked like they were belonged on a ROTC recruitment poster. I never trimmed ears the night before a show. Never. They usually needed at least a week to grow out.<br />
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By now Banner was getting impatient, the Farmer’s puppy wrangling skills were getting worse and my aim with the glue bottle left a lot to be desired. Within minutes, I managed to glue Banner’s other ear appropriately. Yay for me! I had also glued my hand to his ruff, glued the Farmer’s T-shirt to the chair and administered a glob of glue to the outside of Banner’s ear for reasons unknown.<br />
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This "set" lasted for six days. A merry romp with a litter brother over the weekend freed one ear tip from its sticky confines and a malinois-induced wrestling match took care of the other one the next day. Again, Bann’s ears look lovely . . . if you can ignore the big wad of gluey cheek fur attached to the inside of one ear tip. And the bald spot on the outside of the other ear where I finally brushed out the residual glue deposit.<br />
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I am totally over gluing ears. <br />
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We’re going back to the duct tape.tervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-46183709137391205512014-08-26T11:01:00.000-07:002014-08-26T11:01:00.845-07:00The reality of puppiesThe reality of puppies is that they suck up a frighteningly huge amount of time. If Banner is loose in the house he has to be watched 100 percent of the time. Not like “watching the puppy while watching TV” or “watching the puppy and catching up on Facebook.” I mean WATCHING THE PUPPY. Don’t take your eyes off the little begger or he’ll have something inappropriate in his mouth. Like Phoenix’s tail. This is why the Farmer does not watch the puppy.<br /><br />The alternative to WATCHING THE PUPPY is putting the puppy in his crate. This allows me to function as a normal human being and try to catch up on the 295 little household chores that have not been done because I’ve spent most of my waking time for the last four weeks WATCHING THE PUPPY. Which accounts for the marked lack of blog posts lately. Sorry.<br />
<br />In order for puppies to learn house manners, they need to be allowed access to the house, or at least a small part thereof. And they need a responsible person to watch them. Know how when you have a medical procedure done and they tell you to bring a “responsible person” with you? I always think you should bring someone who is capable of watching a puppy. Which pretty much eliminates the Farmer but we’ve been married 23 years and I’m still alive. Maybe watching me is easier than watching a puppy.<br />
<br />I digress.<br /><br />So far, the only bad thing about having a summer puppy is that we spend all our time running around outdoors and not a great deal of progress is being made on house manners — unlike my cold-dark-raining-snowy-ice puppies who learned house manners from the git-go because we spent all our time in the house.<br /><br />This is where the big time suck comes in. I very much love teaching baby dog obedience exercises but there is a ton of other stuff Banner needs to learn just to be a functioning member of our household - wait at gates and doors, don’t pee in the house, don’t eat the rugs, don’t eat the shoes, how to go up and down stairs, be quiet in a crate, don’t jump on me, don’t jump on your brother’s head (shoulders, back, tail, etc.), don’t drag things off the table, OUCH LET GO OF MY PAJAMA LEG, don’t eat the recliner, don’t eat that nasty dead thing the cats left in the yard, don’t tip over the poop bucket, don’t splash in the kitchen water bowl, let me brush you, let me look at your teeth, let me clip your nails. Some days, it’s a wonder I get anything else done.<br /><br />I understand why some trainers like to get adult dogs and bypass the “wonder years” of biting, peeing and attempting to commit suicide by jumping on the heads of adult dogs who are not terribly impressed with the idea of puppies.<br /><br />On that front, Phoenix has truly become the poster child for Big Brother Of The Year.<br /><br />Seriously.<br /><br />Would I joke about something like this?<br /><br />I would not joke about something like this.<br /><br />Ever.<br /><br />It took Phoenix four weeks before he showed even the slightest interest in Banner. I have never seen a dog ignore another dog with such complete conviction that he could make the other dog disappear simply by refusing to acknowledge him. He didn’t want to look at the puppy. He didn’t want to sniff the puppy. He sure as hell didn’t want to play with the puppy.<br /><br />For the first few weeks, I took the dogs outside to potty one at a time. If they went out together, Banner had to be on a leash to keep him from doing something stupid, like a full frontal head pounce with a half twist and withers bounce. The Belgian judge would have given him very low marks. He might have given him toothmarks.<br /><br />Banner was fascinated by Phoenix. He was The Big Dog. He was cool. He had the most wonderfully enchanting tail. Totally. Wonderfully. Enchanting. Tail.<br /><br />Pursuit of that tail was one of the reasons I kept Bann on leash for a long time. A very long time. Sneak attacks on your housemate’s tail is not going to endear you to him.<br /><br />By the time Phoenix deigned to play with him, Banner had decided the Big Dog was kind of scary, at worse, and kind of a jerk, at best. He’d been snarked at a couple of times and had developed a healthy respect for Phoenix, following him around the yard at a distance, like a small determined paparazzi. <br /><br />Phoenix’s initial play bows were received with justifiable suspicion. Granted, malinios play bows being what they are, discretion was probably the better part of valor. Phoenix tends to launch into the air and slam all 53 pounds of bone, muscle and sinew back to earth, front legs splayed, tail wagging crazily and a manical look in his eye. The first time he did it, Banner screamed and ran. Phoenix looked at me like, “Okay, seriously, I didn’t do anything to him.”<br /><br />Things have progressed from there.<br /><br />Now Banner chases Phoenix merrily around the yard, with Phoenix looking over his shoulder to make sure his little buddy is still in tow. Phoenix tolerates the head pounces and other full body contact with good grace. He even lets Banner take toys away from him. Phoenix will clean his teeth and submit to having his teeth cleaned. They’re not snuggling up and singing Kum-Ba-Yah together but Phoenix actually seems to enjoy having a little sidekick.<br /><br />Finally. Praise Jesus. For a brief time, I wondered if we were going to end up as one of those segregated “one dog loose at a time” houses.<br /><br />Now that I trust them enough to let them be loose together, I hope to find the time to get some photos.tervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-20258092251516527272014-08-19T09:05:00.001-07:002014-08-19T09:09:35.084-07:00Belgian/Australian relationsBanner has been here for 4 weeks. There are days when I come home from work and swear he’s grown visibly while I was gone. He has road tripped to an obedience seminar, stayed all night in a motel with a minimum of drama, been to a fun match and starts puppy kindergarten tonight. I am fighting the frantic compulsion to call in sick to work and stay home to play with him and take pictures of him all day long because he will never be this little again.<br />
<br />
His “training” at this point is mostly about learning how to function in our house. How not to get eaten by the malinois. (100% success rate.) How to go outside to pee. (Seriously. All the way out. Not just on the porch.) How to go into a crate on command. How not to bite your brother on the tail. (Yes, he has one. You don’t. You can’t have his.) How to do steps. How to do steps with a toy in your mouth. (Toys in your mouth do not, repeat NOT, enable you to fly.) How to get out of a crate by sitting quietly. How to get your toenails clipped and have your fur brushed and have your teeth looked at and your ears poked at. How not to jump on your brother’s head and bite his whiskers. (See previous reference to how not to get eaten by the malinois.) How not to pounce on the gray cat. (Epic fail.)<br />
<br />
Is he learning “obedience”? Sure. He’ll do all sorts of amazing things with a cookie on his nose and that’s just fine with me right now. I’m introducing sit, down, stand, come and heel but the most important thing I want him to learn is that playing games with me is FUN!<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHbcuOE4Luv5Ike3N8s6t-R0TkR1uW1fxYadNJyQvpQTPucwbxOInkGC970S7_idRns95jVawMacjtWOpejr0QFk3cSM70jEwqLDHDMU8MTM1_FFK0OQ25c53-EhaS_zuCNKxCOsoP-jw/s1600/DSC_1972.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHbcuOE4Luv5Ike3N8s6t-R0TkR1uW1fxYadNJyQvpQTPucwbxOInkGC970S7_idRns95jVawMacjtWOpejr0QFk3cSM70jEwqLDHDMU8MTM1_FFK0OQ25c53-EhaS_zuCNKxCOsoP-jw/s1600/DSC_1972.JPG" height="320" width="278" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These are the Big Dog's toys. But right now they're mine.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Phoenix is slowly warming up to the idea of being a big brother. For
the first two weeks, he wanted nothing to do with Banner. NO. THING. <br />
<br />
Yeah, yeah it’s cute and all that crap, hope you kept the receipt so you can take it back. <br />
<br />
You’re not taking it back?<br />
<br />
Why aren’t you taking it back?<br />
<br />
In
the last few days there have been marked improvements in
Belgian/Australian relations. Banner has demonstrated usefulness in two
areas that Phoenix finds worthy of merit.<br />
<br />
1) Banner can make the
cats run. The cats will not run from Phoenix. When he approaches, they
go belly up like dead bugs and pat his nose with their paws when he
sniffs them. Not much fun. They take one look at Banner and can’t leave
fast enough.<br />
<br />
Last night Phoenix was determinedly ignoring Banner until
he flushed a cat out of hiding and made it run. Phoenix took advantage
of the rule that objects in motion tend to stay in motion and
pursued the running cat, who bolted to safety up a tree or underneath
the patio furniture. The dogs seemed to be having a grand time of this.
The cats, not so much, but since they refused to leave the patio and
back yard I had a hard time feeling very sorry for them.<br />
<br />
2)
Banner will chase him. Phoenix loves to be chased by another dog. Jamie
chased him all the time in play. Phoenix returned the favor but really
preferred to be the chase-ee, not the chaser. Banner is happy to be the
chaser and since catching is not going to be part of the equation any
time soon, this seems to be a mutually agreeable arrangement. <br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTNM83LtrZu5XwT0SWMNluGSToYtoqCoee5AGO0zOSMaXvRP2Yrzq9kKg4x90Bmx2vU1mwjcOFwke6FXZlVsjaOt2y0v6s5t5ocqa0RTLXCQwRPNzToSIoiJQHGqUAwZvWD9muLAeUgc0/s1600/sit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTNM83LtrZu5XwT0SWMNluGSToYtoqCoee5AGO0zOSMaXvRP2Yrzq9kKg4x90Bmx2vU1mwjcOFwke6FXZlVsjaOt2y0v6s5t5ocqa0RTLXCQwRPNzToSIoiJQHGqUAwZvWD9muLAeUgc0/s1600/sit.jpg" height="320" width="274" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Show me the cookie.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
After 4 weeks, I’ve compiled a Top Ten list of things I’m really enjoying about having an Aussie:<br />
<br />
1) No tails to get caught in doors.<br />
<br />
2) The butt wiggle is really quite adorable.<br />
<br />
3) Not nearly as many holes in my clothes as when Phoenix was the same age.<br />
<br />
4) Clear toenails for the first time in 15 years.<br />
<br />
5) Flying leap with twisting butt wiggle and head stand makes me laugh.<br />
<br />
6) Not nearly as many holes in me as when Phoenix was the same age.<br />
<br />
7) Bubbles with enthusiasm for whatever activity I suggest.<br />
<br />
8) Loves to play in water. Wading pool, good. Kitchen water bowl, bad.<br />
<br />
9) White paws show up in the dark.<br />
<br />
10) I get to shop for new stuff: new dumbbells, new articles, new collars, etc. Belgian hand-me-downs are not gonna work this time.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFkjL0HSgoBIqLU5K8p0kBJs-NJRrtm3_-un04tgy2Jmd23OFromHI4JS-aMvq6OUMVx16ChXtUQF9LwN6iQLtZquFSlyoBx4P-xpHOd5Dnqk2HTiDwdDfH3sPlDfe3B9NPpXvc9jUKfs/s1600/DSC_1970.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFkjL0HSgoBIqLU5K8p0kBJs-NJRrtm3_-un04tgy2Jmd23OFromHI4JS-aMvq6OUMVx16ChXtUQF9LwN6iQLtZquFSlyoBx4P-xpHOd5Dnqk2HTiDwdDfH3sPlDfe3B9NPpXvc9jUKfs/s1600/DSC_1970.JPG" height="214" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chewing on toys pictures are the easiest ones to take right now. Because he's not moving.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />tervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-88694594226547182262014-08-05T10:49:00.002-07:002014-08-05T10:49:59.491-07:00Two weeksBanner has been here for two weeks already. He is a good puppy. For initial purposes, “good” means “quiet in a crate.” Beyond that, “good” is a rather vague word that covers a multitude of behaviors from “rides in the car without barfing” to “lets me cut his toenails without having a meltdown” to “flies at me like he’s been launched from a cannon when I call him.”<br /><br />I’m willing to overlook lapses in “good” (attacking shoes, refusal to release said shoe, gleeful attacking of another shoe upon eventual release of initial shoe) because for the love of doG, how can you scold something that is so stinkin’ cute? So far, the height of Banner’s naughtiness has been random chomping of human skin and a determination to pester the cats until they pack up and leave. Which they won’t, because they are fascinated by him in a horrified sort of way.<br /><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2N9G4kmzrlBzUyCOPTZN-Jj90HPH-qHWtP2ZJkUgJOm3o2-7vK6kw6kf58rkDIZkcwi7ZyMhxqlsKSoM3nWbwjJ9aiEo7tzgsSL-aTJGERn_pdVKvtXctnrRCxFpDVMd590AvAnmVR6I/s1600/DSC_1948.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2N9G4kmzrlBzUyCOPTZN-Jj90HPH-qHWtP2ZJkUgJOm3o2-7vK6kw6kf58rkDIZkcwi7ZyMhxqlsKSoM3nWbwjJ9aiEo7tzgsSL-aTJGERn_pdVKvtXctnrRCxFpDVMd590AvAnmVR6I/s1600/DSC_1948.JPG" height="214" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You are about to exceeded the limits of my medication! But I can't leave you alone.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It took three nights for Banner to decide the world wasn’t coming to an
end when he had to go in a crate so the humans could sleep. He’s quiet at night now. This is not the
same as sleeping through the night. Apparently there are a lot of
entertaining things you can do in a crate at 2 a.m. I can hear him
banging around, growling to himself and the occasional sound of cloth
tearing. He shows a predisposition to becoming an absolutely first class
shredder.<br /><br />Phoenix is not sure about this big brother gig. He
shows general disdain mingled with cautious interest and alternates between curling his lip and wagging his tail. I spend a lot of time on Phoenix And Banner Management. It
would be wonderful to see them romping in the back yard together but I’m
not in a hurry to reach that point.<br /><br />Phoenix has a big personal space. He
does not like dogs in his personal space. He especially does not like
dogs jumping on his head. Puppies excel at jumping on other dogs’ heads.
I am pretty sure Banner would manage to offend him beyond all
reasonable expectation in very short order if they were loose together. <br /><br />While
my friends all assure me they’ll be best buddies, I realize most of
them live with dogs who are accepting and tolerant and actually enjoy
meeting and interacting with new dogs. Phoenix is not and does not. I
knew when I brought a puppy home that it would take a while for Phoenix
to warm up to the idea that a puppy in the house was okay, let alone
decide he could play with one. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHhyETR5qPVPkCg1m1tmYyMhWXzN29vFTU3kdrAmBplEiEKlfNFCENogyqz5hZac-U-VvHkTkCk3gAiQg784FCUQf4xYfS4_z4zqgMALzMHHmjsyu4HZ5q_wN5gQPUm-fZA4LRNC9zz0M/s1600/flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHhyETR5qPVPkCg1m1tmYyMhWXzN29vFTU3kdrAmBplEiEKlfNFCENogyqz5hZac-U-VvHkTkCk3gAiQg784FCUQf4xYfS4_z4zqgMALzMHHmjsyu4HZ5q_wN5gQPUm-fZA4LRNC9zz0M/s1600/flowers.jpg" height="197" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There was a puppy in this picture 2 seconds ago. Seriously. He was right<i> there</i>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
So I’m careful. Sometimes they go
outside separately. Sometimes together, but only with Banner on a leash
to prevent him from doing anything rash.<br /><br />To his credit, Banner
has been reasonably respectful in the limited interaction he’s had with
Phoenix. He’s gotten in a few quick muzzle licks, usually when I’m
holding him and Phoenix makes what appears to be an obligatory sniff.
Phoenix has returned these with soft tail wags and there has been some
play-bowing and the appearance of “party ears.” I’m not in a hurry to
toss the two of them together. Phoenix is 52 pounds of hard muscle
without a lot of tolerance. Banner is 12 pounds of fuzz without a lot of
good sense.<br /><br />I’ve been trying to do one brief leash walk with
both of them together each day. Preferably in the evening. Preferably
when Banner is tired and much less likely to do something reckless.
Banner capers and cavorts and manages to bump into Phoenix’s haunches
and flanks. Phoenix doesn’t seem to mind this.<br /><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglQiC7T2RU9MXcUqxR339iqmhZ5_Mv2LpV652OY0Mcy1896JzwxBZDFd2bk_E8g5I5gLVMmn4liEEi5TaC6joiRsh7Kv_t0FAS-Ybq7GV7GZEYp-V2kItxkffCWXluIRcf7S3fij3aO8s/s1600/holee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglQiC7T2RU9MXcUqxR339iqmhZ5_Mv2LpV652OY0Mcy1896JzwxBZDFd2bk_E8g5I5gLVMmn4liEEi5TaC6joiRsh7Kv_t0FAS-Ybq7GV7GZEYp-V2kItxkffCWXluIRcf7S3fij3aO8s/s1600/holee.jpg" height="320" width="274" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Squishy balls are the best. Unless you can have a fuzzy toy. Then have the fuzzy toy. Unless you can have a cookie. Then have the cookie. Unless you can have pats and thumps. Then have pats and thumps. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Pack management
aside, puppy training is an absolute blast. I use “training” in the most
general of terms. Since Banner has so much to learn - about life on a
farm, cats, malinois, cheese, crates, diesel pickup trucks - every
minute I spend with him is some sort of training. Everything he
experiences brings him new knowledge. <br /><br />He has no preconceived
notion that training could ever be boring or unpleasant. Everything in
his life to this point has been done to show him that humans are
trustworthy, gentle, fun, safe and loaded with all the good stuff. I
want to expand this to show him that if he encounters something scary
(the cement deer in my mother-in-law’s yard) that I’ll be there to keep
him safe and help him be brave (really hoping my mother-in-law didn’t
see me sticking pieces of cheese to the deer. Or Banner gnawing on the
deer’s leg.)<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYWNFSQIHvCbFyfPO3uWL4kGqtwy3HKS1I-kuCs1FtR74hOe1nREziu9cuPIiDYC-J5Kq_wwpOA8OC0rIJ28j-lZA8CKyFZkK1ofSRzehg05Xu5SzEelLC71WpN6m3uzOpHgMTEBjk8UE/s1600/petunias.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYWNFSQIHvCbFyfPO3uWL4kGqtwy3HKS1I-kuCs1FtR74hOe1nREziu9cuPIiDYC-J5Kq_wwpOA8OC0rIJ28j-lZA8CKyFZkK1ofSRzehg05Xu5SzEelLC71WpN6m3uzOpHgMTEBjk8UE/s1600/petunias.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's a scientific fact, flower beds are puppy magnets. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />tervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-62350736616946998072014-08-02T12:50:00.000-07:002014-08-02T12:56:34.180-07:00I can't make this stuff upSubhead: The glamorous side of dogs and living in the country<br />
<br />
One night earlier this week, the Farmer and I went to a funeral visitation for his uncle. The Farmer's mother doesn't drive any more, so we took her with us. We took her car, because she can't step up into R2 and even if she could, there's no room for 3 people. (The Farmer's mother is very nice. She keeps a car so other people can drive her places. It works out.)<br />
<br />
When we got back from the church, we parked her car at her house and walked up to our place because it's not that far away. I let Phoenix out of his outdoor kennel. He was in a state. He was wild eyed, his ribs were heaving and his tongue was hanging out a mile. If he'd been a horse, he would have been in a lather.<br />
<br />
I looked around. It was a quiet summer evening. Nothing could account for this state of affairs. I turned him loose. He ran across the yard and had profuse diarrhea. Then he seemed much happier so I cleaned up the mess, we went inside, I fed Banner and started to fix our supper. The jury was out on Phoenix, so no supper until he settled down.<br />
<br />
Within minutes, Banner threw his supper back up in a series of tidy little piles all over his crate. Why make one big pile when you can make six little ones? This either distressed him or was cause for celebration because he began bouncing around in his crate, sending slimy kibble grenades shooting out across the kitchen floor. I put our supper on hold, took the puppy out of the crate and cleaned up the mess. Banner seemed no worse for the wear. I decided he'd probably been too hungry and had gobbled his food down too fast.<br />
<br />
The humans' supper got cooked, served and eaten. Phoenix hung out under the table, which is customary. After the meal was done, he got up and left. There was blood smeared all over the floor where he had been laying. I called Phoenix back and did a fast inspection of paws, which are always the most likely culprits. Keep in mind that Phoenix has a pain threshold that is off the charts. I quit expecting him to yelp or cry when he's hurt about 5 years ago when he ran through the rotary hoe in the barn (chasing a cat) and sliced his flank open, then gave absolutely no indication that anything was wrong, only irritation that the cat had eluded him.<br />
<br />
His paws looked fine. He seemed unconcerned. Poking and prodding on various body parts elicited no response other than a "Don't you have anything better to do?" look. I cleaned up the mess.<br />
<br />
Since I'd already dealt with diarrhea, vomit and blood in the last 30 minutes, I figured a big old pee puddle was probably next on the agenda and decided to take Banner outside as a pre-emptive strike.<br />
<br />
I glanced out the kitchen window. A black cat was staggering around the back yard. We do not have a black cat.<br />
<br />
The cat lurched around on the inside of the fence, stiff-legged and jerky. It ran into the fence. It fell down. It got up and ran into the fence again. It wandered in a circle and started running. It was nearly skeletal in appearance, dull black fur stretched over protruding bones. I yelled for the Farmer.<br />
<br />
"Where's the rifle?"<br />
<br />
There are some things you never say at our house unless you absolutely mean it. These include "The barn is on fire," "The cows are out" and "Call the ambulance." "Where's the rifle?" is another and it's largely a rhetorical question because it means "Get the rifle, something needs shootin'."<br />
<br />
When you live in the country, sometimes things need shootin'. Usually it's raccoons, possums, groundhogs, skunks and other vermin that end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. We have a .22 that serves as a multi-purpose varmint gun.<br />
<br />
"It's in the machine shed," the Farmer yelled back. He was already out the door. The cat was stumbling across the yard. I bolted for the machine shed, grabbed the gun and met the Farmer just in time to see the cat disappear around the grain bin. I handed him the gun. I hate shooting things, even when it's a mercy killing. I'm always afraid the animal won't die on the first shot and I'll cause more suffering.<br />
<br />
The Farmer knows this. He took the gun and disappeared. In less than a minute, a single loud crack echoed off the buildings.<br />
<br />
"The cat didn't even act like it saw me," he said when he came back. Pause. "You're gonna clean that up, right?"<br />
<br />
I cleaned up the mess.<br />
<br />
So many times, when a wild animal is "sick," we never know what's wrong with it - only that it's "not right." Over the years we've been married, there have been several "not right" raccoons and skunks that we've shot near the house and barns. While doing carcass disposal, I wondered what was wrong with the cat. Rabies? Distemper? I'll never know.<br />
<br />
Back at the house, the barn cats (who am I kidding - the PATIO cats) had all reappeared and were demanding their supper. I carried their kitty kibble out to the garage, stepped inside and walked into the fifth mess of the evening.<br />
<br />
Phoenix's outside run is 6 x 12 foot chain link kennel both inside and outside of the garage. The inside portion was a train wreck. The big water bowl had been overturned. Ring gates and PVC jumps had been knocked off the top of the dog box and lay in a haphazard sprawl across the floor. Things that had been leaning against the outside of the chain link panels had been toppled over. Clearly, Phoenix's meltdown earlier in the evening had been directed against something inside the garage. I'm guessing it was the black cat and I'm guessing he was throwing himself at the chain link panels, trying to chase it off. I cleaned up the mess.<br />
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Sitting in my recliner later, I was blissfully enjoying a moment in time that did not involve a funeral visitation, diarrhea, vomiting, bleeding, "not right" feral cats, gun shots, blood spatter or carcass disposal. Phoenix leaped up on the recliner with me and began licking his paws. This is an evening ritual. He licks his paws, me, the chair, my book, my phone, my laptop and anything else he can reach. He is a serial licker.<br />
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Only that night, he was only licking his paws. One paw in particular. One spot in particular. I grabbed the leg and held it up in the light. He'd ripped the skin off most of the "bumper pad" on that leg, probably while trying to chase the cat in the garage. Well, that accounted for the blood on the kitchen floor. Mystery solved. Fortunately, those are quick to heal.<br />
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Mama said there'd be days like this.<br />
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<br />tervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-40677074029126202142014-07-28T11:57:00.000-07:002014-07-28T11:57:12.221-07:00The demise of the Evil Hedgehog of DoomBanner has made himself at home. I think Phoenix has quit looking for the receipt so he can return him when I'm not looking. I even caught the Farmer holding him this morning. They were having quite a conversation. It mostly consisted of "You're awfully cute. Stop biting me."<br />
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Being cute and biting things are what Banner does best.</div>
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Today, he killed the Evil Hedgehog of Doom.</div>
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The Evil Hedgehog of Doom (EHD) had been the bane of many obedience classes I taught during the last couple of years. I used it for proofing scenarios. There could be 20 toys on the floor and dogs would deliberately go clear across the room to avoid the EHD. I have no idea why.<br />
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Fear not, obedience dogs of eastern Iowa. The Evil Hedgehog of Doom has been vanquished by Banner the Bold. Okay, actually, Phoenix the Wild brought it down. Banner just finished it off.<br />
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P.S. The tug he was playing with in the first photo of my last post was made by dogdreamstoys.com. Several people had asked.tervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-10703616012556124822014-07-25T14:49:00.001-07:002014-07-25T14:51:42.768-07:00Banner: Day 2Day 2: trip to the vet for a well-puppy exam, visit to the newspaper office, ride in the Gator to check cows (cows are VERY exciting, if you didn't know), practicing quiet time in a crate and lots of playing outdoors once it quit raining.<br />
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Toys are a big hit. Any toy. Any time.</div>
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Dog trainers' mad skills mean they can tug with one hand and take pics with the other. </div>
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Method not recommended for dogs weighing more than 10 pounds.</div>
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For the record, he CAN fit a full-size tennis ball in his mouth.</div>
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A little soft focus here but that's what you get when </div>
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a 10-pound projectile is launching itself at your head.</div>
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And finally, Phoenix is notably absent from these photos. He is trying so hard to ignore Banner it's almost pathetic. Okay, he's not just trying, he's SUCCEEDING and it IS pathetic. Phoenix likes Banner - when he's in a crate or an x-pen. But when "it" is loose, he finds somewhere else to be. Banner is fascinated by Phoenix but has absolutely no idea that jumping on someone's head is neither appropriate nor appreciated. I'm keeping the two carefully separated until Phoenix starts to show genuinely friendly - or at least tolerant - interest. There's no rush.<br />
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Until then, Phoenix is pretty sure Banner's only redeeming social value is that he has a lot of cool new toys that Phoenix is allowed to play with and also, when Banner has a yowling fit (LEMME OUTTA HERE RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE DO YOU HEAR ME!!!!), Phoenix gets cookies.tervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-62120640166550759142014-07-24T07:37:00.001-07:002014-07-24T07:37:37.134-07:00Introducing . . .<div style="text-align: center;">
CedarWoods Once Upon a Time</div>
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"Banner"</div>
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Banner came home to Iowa yesterday.</div>
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The cats are horrified. Seriously. Totally appalled.</div>
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Weezel is pretty much the only one who will have anything to do with him.</div>
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The beginning of a bad idea.</div>
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Mutual fascination.</div>
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Collars? We don't need no stinkin' itchy collars.</div>
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There will be more pics coming. Right now we're trying to get a handle on the simple stuff, like mastering the step at the back door, the concept of being quiet in a crate and not jumping on Phoenix's head. You know - the stuff that will keep you alive.<br />
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Already this morning he has met my teenage niece (much gushing, cooing and cuddling), met my brother-in-law (who asked "Are you going to try to train this one, too?"), 4 cats (3 of whom looked at him like "WTH?" and one who had an absolute hissy fit meltdown), watched a tractor, went for a little walk, tried to make friends with Phoenix (hard to make friends with someone who ignores you) and is now having a nap.tervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-45921662207841049942014-07-14T13:54:00.002-07:002014-07-14T13:59:18.811-07:00Eight days and countingI am absurdly, ridiculously, wildly excited about the prospect of a summer puppy. Taking a walk down the frozen, ice-slick memory lane of Phoenix’s arrival explains a lot. He was not a summer puppy. He was a February puppy.<br />
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I took a week off from work for puppy bonding after he arrived. I got puppy bonding all right, along with a major ice storm that hit within hours of getting home from the airport with him. It knocked out power in eastern Iowa for the better part of a week. We were off the grid for six days. No lights. No heat. No computer. No TV. That was the week I cooked a pizza on a gas grill. You haven’t lived until you’ve grilled a pizza by lantern light and eaten it with a malinois puppy stuffed inside your coat in a house where you can see your breath in the air. Good times.<br />
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During the day, I sat on the living room floor, wearing a parka over insulated Carhartt bib-overalls, a stocking cap and gloves and played with Phoenix. In the evening, I sat in my recliner and read by lantern light with him snuggled under a blanket on my lap while the Farmer listened to Iowa Hawkeye basketball on the radio. <br />
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Then we went to bed and crawled under every blanket we owned, topped by my sleeping bag, with Phoenix wedged comfortably (for him) under my arm. If anyone had to pee in the middle of the night, we crawled out of our snug nest, shoved feet into cold boots, made our way through the cold house by flashlight and found the human toilet (I was hauling water from the cattle tanks so we could flush) or went outdoors into the black infinity that is Iowa in February at 2 a.m. The average temp outdoors that week was between 30 and 32 degrees. The average temp in the house that week was about 40 degrees.<br />
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I’ve never had a summer puppy before. Never. Ever. Jess came in March (cold, dark, wet, fog, snow), Connor in November (cold, dark, wet, fog, trying to snow), Jamie in late September and Phoenix in February. Jamie was the closest thing I ever had to a summer puppy but his arrival at the end of September coincided with quickly diminishing daylight hours that restricted outdoor activity and dropping temps made middle-of-the-night trips outdoors a goosebumpy affair.<br />
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The idea of bringing a puppy home when there are warm temps and long hours of evening sunshine fills my heart with such paroxysms of joy I can barely stand it. Really. You have no idea. Bottom line, I’m looking forward to being able to make outdoor potty runs in the middle of the night in a T-shirt and flip-flops and not get frostbite or get clunked on the head by an ice-coated tree limb crashing down. <br />
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No, I don’t know which puppy is coming to Iowa. Yes, it’s driving me crazy. Yes, that’s a short trip. No, I don’t have a problem with it. The breeder is doing all she can to help me decide. I’ve seen the puppies exactly once, for five wonderful hours earlier this month. She has lived with them for nearly 8 weeks, watched them grow and change. Although any given puppy might be “the one” on any given day, I trust her judgement to help me choose the right one based on two months of interacting with them daily. Honestly, the day I visited the litter, I often found it difficult to look beyond the forest to study the individual trees - the presence of nine bouncy, outgoing, fuzzy puppies made it hard to focus on a single one for very long. Sitting on the grass with puppies tumbling in and out of my lap pretty much reduced my brain to oxytocin-saturated mush.<br />
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Even worse, after years of Belgian-blinded vision, it was damn near impossible to tell the five blue merle boys apart and think I only identified the four black tri’s correctly about half of the time. Unless the puppy in question was facing me and held still for longer than 2 seconds, I had a really hard time identifying the little beasts (smallest tri girl, wild tri girl, dilute blue boy, full white collar blue boy, solo tri boy, etc., etc.) and remembering what their puppy call names were so the breeder and I could have a sensible conversation about them.<br />
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My puppy-picking skills have never been based on scientific approach or strict behavior evaluations. I picked Jess out of his litter when he was five or six weeks old. I chose him because he was the only puppy who did not have a full white collar. Connor picked me. Truly. He was an accident - the puppy I wasn’t looking for and didn’t need but met by chance and suddenly desperately wanted. I picked Jamie - it was a simple choice between him (already showing promise of grace and elegance at 8 weeks) and his brother (who was a short-legged, lumpy sort of pup). Phoenix’s breeder picked him for me. <br />
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My current quandary is not which of nine puppies to choose but which of two puppies to choose. Or maybe three. But probably two. One is a boy. One is a girl. When I saw them at 6 weeks, they were both lovely - animated, tuggy, follow-y (is that a word? it is now), kissy and engaging. Social. Bold. Lovely structure. Pretty markings. Over the top stinkin' adorable.<br />
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Friends who always have boy dogs tell me to get the boy. Friends who always have girl dogs tell me to get the girl. Friends who have had both tell me to pick the one that I feel is right. I’ve always had boys. I thought I wanted another boy. Now I’m not so sure. But a girl is an unknown quantity. A boy is a known quantity. Sort of. I thought Phoenix was a known quantity. He was only too happy to prove me wrong. I don’t want the boy vs. girl debate to cloud my decision. I need to pick the puppy who is right for me, never mind if it has outdoor plumbing or indoor plumbing.<br />
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The Farmer is no help. He rolls his eyes and says, "Get the one that makes you happy." Phoenix is no help. He just fixes me with that Malinois/Jedi stare and I can hear him thinking, "Cat. In the house. You want a cat. In. The. House."<br />
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Since I’m already making a drastic switch in appearance, maybe it’s time to really switch it up and bring a girl home. A little estrogen in the house would be a fine thing.tervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-37015846758818847522014-07-08T10:29:00.000-07:002014-07-08T10:33:02.112-07:00Puppy-proofing the houseI was thinking I needed to puppy-proof our house before the new little critter arrives later this month. Then I looked around and realized the military grade puppy-proofing I inflicted on our home following Phoenix’s arrival 7 1/2 years ago is still in effect. Seriously. After you’ve mali-proofed your home once, there’s really not much else you can do to it. <br />
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The toilet paper went into hiding under the bathroom sink when Phoenix arrived and hasn’t come back out since. Over the last 7 1/2 years, when people came to visit I’ve occasionally had to yell through the bathroom door to inform the occupant where to find the potty paper. People who visit frequently know where to find it. Chances are, they are dog friends and could figure it out themselves because that's where they keep theirs, too.<br />
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The hand-woven baskets and dried floral arrangements went out the door (often in a trash bag) after Phoenix arrived. Ditto for throw pillows. Fabric rabbits. Lace-edged doilies. Home decorating magazines touting creative ways to display hand-woven baskets with dried floral arrangements, throw pillows, fabric rabbits and lace-edged doilies. I waved good-bye to the days of having rooms that looked like Better Homes and Gardens photo shoots. Okay, so they weren’t exactly BH&G material but still . . . I liked my dried flowers. As it turned out, so did Phoenix. Nice to know we shared the same aesthetics, although for totally different reasons.<br />
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And it wasn’t like Phoenix was allowed to run amuck in the house without supervision. The casualties happened when I WAS watching him. He was THAT fast. God forbid I ever turned my back on him. The house would have come crashing down over our heads while he happily chewed through a supporting wall.<br />
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Phoenix actually may have done me a colossal favor when it came to keeping our house neat and tidy. He made it clear that if an object was important, you put it away where it belonged - in cupboard, filing cabinet, dresser drawer, closet or on top of the refrigerator. Or out in the machine shed.<br />
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As a puppy, he believed anything not red hot or nailed down was fair game for a spontaneous tournament of keep away. I called them tournaments because they involved a great deal of time and skill by both parties before a winner could be declared. And frequently that winner was not me.<br />
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Initially, these tournaments did not end well for the object Phoenix possessed. Later, when he learned purloined items could be exchanged for a treat, the snatch and grab habits continued, but by then I had wised up and the number of things that could be subjected to his petty thievery had been greatly reduced.<br />
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Mundane everyday stuff that might be found casually laying about on counter tops, night stands or end tables — like note pads, pencils, drink coasters, boxes of tissues, tubes of hand lotion, coffee mugs, paper napkins, spatulas, dish cloths, the day’s mail, jewelry, scissors, glasses cases, yesterday’s mail, hot pan holders, boxes of crackers, mugs holding ink pens, loaves of bread, bottles of honey (the honey, omg, the honey), keys, cell phones, TV remotes, DVR remotes, computer mice, weather radios (yeah, seriously) and any number of other household miscellany including potted plants — found its way into Phoenix’s mouth before I enacted Malinois Rule #7: if you don’t want him to get it, PUT IT AWAY. This was a difficult concept for the Farmer to grasp. My previous dogs all went through chewy stages as puppies but they paled in comparison to Phoenix’s reign of terror.<br />
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The items he took weren’t consumed . . . just . . . re-purposed. Okay, they were ripped, shredded and mangled, with the pieces cheerfully strewn about the house. But to his credit, he never ate any of them.<br />
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Over the last 7 1/2 years, I’ve gotten in the habit of keeping the house much tidier than I ever did pre-Phoenix. Whoever penned "A place for everything and everything in its place" must have had a malinois. Although I’m not an obsessive neat-nik, in a couple of weeks, the puppy will come into a house where there entertainment potential of available inanimate objects is fairly low.<br />
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But there are still the cats. I haven’t told the cats about the puppy. I think I’ll let that be a surprise.tervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-67891242628548967052014-06-24T12:05:00.000-07:002014-06-24T12:26:09.998-07:00The tapestry of life with dogsIt’s been 7 years and 4 months since Phoenix arrived in my life. Seven years and 4 months since I’ve had a little baby creature in the house.<br />
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By the time Aussie-puppy-with-no-name arrives, it will have been 7 years and 5 months. I am going to see the litter next week and am nearly beside myself with anticipation. The breeder has been excellent about sending pictures and video, which quite frankly is only making matters worse. While photos of human babies leave me fumbling for something polite to say, pictures of puppies send me into paroxysms of maternal bliss. The puppy-induced endorphin rush has nearly rendered me dysfunctional. (The Farmer made a smart comment about this but I deleted it. Editorial privilege.)<br />
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A lot has happened since February of 2007 when Phoenix marched into my life, looked around and took over. I’ve sat with a parent in hospice care, said good-bye to that parent, attended four national specialties, said good-bye to two wonderful dogs, found out my heart doesn't work right, avoided being downsized at work at least nine times, had my job “reorganized” 10 times, buried a parent-in-law, became a storm spotter for the National Weather Service, had surgery and added cats to a household that contained a dog who thought cats were demon spawn to be scourged from the earth.<br />
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Through all of that, there’s been the never-ending roller coaster of Phoenix’s obedience career. Not a day has passed when at least some portion of my waking hours have not been occupied by thoughts about training that crazy dog. One of his best gifts has been giving me something else to focus on when normal life was just too toxic to embrace. Granted, that wasn’t just Phoenix. Jess, Connor and Jamie did it, too. I have endured the stress of "there will be lay-offs" staff meetings, the uncertainty of doctor’s appointments and the emotional drain of funerals while thinking about ways to clean up a drop on recall or fix a stay problem.<br />
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Dogs have always been such an integral part of my life that I tend to remember events through the years by connecting them to what my dogs were doing at the time. <br />
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Wedding planning in the spring of 1991? I was showing Jess for his UD. My mom kept wanting to do wedding stuff and I kept telling her I couldn’t because “I have a show that weekend.” <br />
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The straight-line windstorm that decimated our farm in the summer of 1998? I was just starting to show Connor for his OTCh. I remember dragging my jumps out from under the twisted wreckage of an evergreen tree in the back yard and thinking, “Crap, cleaning up this mess is going to cut into my training time.” It did.<br />
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Painting the house in the autumn of 1999? (The Farmer and I painted it by ourselves. Every. Single. Fricking. Board.) I remember finishing “my” portion (everything below the fourth rung of the extension ladder) the weekend before driving to Ohio to pick up baby Jamie in September. <br />
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The ice storm of February 2007? It hit the night I got home from the airport with Phoenix. One week without heat, lights or running water and a crazy baby malinois sleeping in the bed with us. Good times.<br />
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Putting vinyl siding on the house in 2007? I remember Phoenix grabbing big sheets of loose Tyvek house-wrap and running around the yard with them. I’m probably lucky he didn’t pull it off the house.<br />
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I wonder what non-dog memories I will attach to this puppy? What will happen in its lifetime that will leave me remembering, “Oh yeah, that was the year we . . .”?tervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-32434869812043688592014-06-15T14:57:00.001-07:002014-06-15T14:59:27.057-07:00A stitch in timeI am sewing.<br />
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I did not like sewing when I was a wee lass in 4-H and after 30 years of avoiding sewing like some kind of Third World plague, I've found I do not like it any better now.<br />
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Sewing involves needles, pins and scissors - pointy, sharp things capable of drawing blood. As far as I am concerned, this is just asking for trouble.<br />
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But I am sewing because A) I am subject to spurts of creative energy and B) I am trying to save money.<br />
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I am not sewing a new wardrobe. God made LL Bean and Christopher and Banks and outlet malls so women do not have to sit, hunched over and squinting and sticking out their tongues, trying to make their own clothes. (Am I the only one who sews like that? I suspect I am not alone.)<br />
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I have great respect for anyone who can make their own clothes. Hell, at this point, I have great respect for anyone who can thread a needle on the first try.<br />
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I grew up in an era when it was commonplace to go play at a friend's house and find tissue paper patterns from McCall's or Butterick spread across the dining room table and the sewing machine whirring away while her mother created a new blouse or skirt on a Saturday afternoon, casual as making toast.<br />
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My best friend's mom in high school made my friend's prom dress. I was still struggling to master a straight seam and she made an entire freaking prom dress. And it looked better than most of the stuff that came off the rack. That was back in the day when girls went to JCPenney and bought their prom dresses, they didn't go to a bridal store and order one and get fitted for it and register it so no other girl in any school in the surrounding six counties could buy the same one because imagine the HORROR and DEGRADATION you might experience if someone else showed up at prom wearing YOUR dress.<br />
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Ahem. But I digress.<br />
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I am making a belt pouch. If you have ever attended a Renaissance festival, you know what I'm talking about. Well, if you attended one and paid attention to the costuming. And could get past the wood nymphs, Goths, harem girls, faeries and pirates to the folks who were dressed as simple peasants, which is what I aspire to. Apparently the concept of pockets eluded folks back in the day. Or maybe their pockets were full of other things. But most folks have at least one belt pouch attached to their, um, well, belt. This was the forerunner of the modern handbag.<br />
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A group of friends and I have been tossing around the possibility of attending a Renaissance festival "in garb" at some point in the future. Said "garb" is not to be taken lightly and I'm taking my time to assemble something that is passably "peasant-ish" without being "wench-ish." However, I have learned that "wench" is simply another term for "woman" so perhaps I need to clarify that I hope to avoid the "slutty wench" look. If you've been to a Ren faire, you know what I'm talking about.<br />
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If you want to dive into another world entirely, Google "Renaissance Festival Clothing." Pretty much anything you want is available and I mean anything. Just whip out the MasterCard and click "add to cart." And be prepared to give up your firstborn child and several random body parts to pay for it.<br />
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To date, I have refrained admirably. A skirt from Amazon has been the high end of my spending, at $14. A $5 peasant blouse from a thrift store will do for a chemise. I suspect if I get into this sort of thing (like I NEED another thing to get into), I will upgrade my wardrobe but for now, I'm taking the cheapest route. Precision authenticity is not a goal. Trust me, if you've been to a Ren faire, there's a whole lot going on that has little to do with authenticity.<br />
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But I did buy a belt. One needs a good belt to hang things from. I do not anticipate buying a dagger or a drinking mug to hang from my belt but in the grand scheme of things, I will need somewhere to stash the 21st century conveniences like my keys, cell phone, lip balm and cash while at the faire. Hence the pouch. I do not anticipate tucking them into my bodice. The bodice is a whole other post entirely.<br />
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I tried hard not to buy a belt. I thought I certainly had a belt that would suffice.Wrong. My belts were woefully inadequate for doing that fancy loopy knot thing. They barely went around my waist once, let alone left any room for loopy knotty things. Okay. Fine. I would use one of the Farmer's cast-off belts. Then I realized there is reason they are cast off. They are beat to hell. It's hard to do loopy-knotty with something that is fally-aparty. Sigh. Click "add to cart."<br />
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Which is why I am playing Scarlett O'Hara and sewing a belt pouch out of an old shirt. A pouch is a pretty simple thing to sew. Which is good, because I've nearly lost my religion already. Trust me when I tell you I will not be opening an Etsy store featuring hand-sewn items any time in the future.<br />
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If I were a good blogger, I would insert a picture of my pouch here. But I'm not going to. It's not done. It may never get done. I may grab my MasterCard and with tail between my legs, crawl off to one of the 15,839 web sites that sell Ren faire garb made by people who can actually wield a needle and thread without sewing their finger to the cloth. Not that I did that.<br />
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I'll admit this experience in hand sewing simple seams has been kind of fun. Even if my stitches are crooked and the thread is abominable demon spawn that tangles just to spite me. The longer I worked at it, the better I got. That's not to say I got good at it, just better.<br />
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Come to think of it, I don't think Scarlett O'Hara actually sewed that gown from the old drapes herself. She probably made Mammy do it. Hmmmph. Since I am decidedly Mammy-less, I will have to soldier on.<br />
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<br />tervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-12365823368371675752014-06-03T11:26:00.000-07:002014-06-03T11:26:57.715-07:00Conversation with a malinoisMe: Phoenix? C’mere, I’ve got something exciting to tell you.<br /><br />Phoenix: Is it suppertime?<br /><br />Me: No, it’s not suppertime.<br /><br />Phoenix: Wanna play ball? Can I have a cat in the house? Is that steak in the fridge for me? When’s Papa coming back? Can we go for a walk?<br /><br />Me: No. Not a chance. How did you know there was steak in the fridge? I don’t know. Yes, later.<br /><br />Phoenix: Oh. Then hurry up. I’m busy. Things to do.<br /><br />Me: We’re getting a puppy.<br /><br />Phoenix: A what?<br /><br />Me: A puppy. A baby dog.<br /><br />Phoenix (doubtful): Why would you get one of those?<br /><br />Me: Because I miss having 2 dogs. And so you can have a friend. I know you miss Jamie. <br /><br />Phoenix: Yeah. Miss him.<br /><br />Silence.<br /><br />Phoenix: Can I have a cat in the house instead?<br /><br />Me: Um. No.<br /><br />Phoenix: Why?<br /><br />Me: Because I don't want to spend the rest of the year making homeowner's insurance claims.<br />
<br />Phoenix: This puppy thing - will it eat my food?<br /><br />Me: No.<br /><br />Phoenix: Will it sleep in my bed?<br /><br />Me: No.<br /><br />Phoenix: Will it sleep in your bed?<br /><br />Me: Not at first.<br /><br />Phoenix: Will it get my toys?<br /><br />Me: It might. Do you think you could share some of your toys?<br /><br />Phoenix: Do I have to?<br /><br />Me: Yes. Some of them.<br /><br />Silence. Phoenix contemplates toy sharing.<br /><br />Phoenix: What will it look like?<br /><br />Me: It will be a lot smaller than you. Probably tri-colored. And have a little tail nubbin. And tippy-over ears. And be very fuzzy.<br /><br />Phoenix: Fuzzy? Like me?<br /><br />Me: You’re not fuzzy. You’re sleekit.*<br /><br />Phoenix: Papa calls me Fuzzball.<br /><br />Me: Papa calls you a lot of things. You are sleekit. The puppy will be a fuzzball.<br /><br />Phoenix: Will be a girl fuzzball or a boy fuzzball?<br /><br />Me: I don’t know.<br /><br />Phoenix: You can’t tell the difference?<br /><br />Me: Yes, I can tell the difference. Smart ass. But I don’t know which one will come live with us yet.<br /><br />Phoenix: Get a smart one. Don’t get a dumb one.<br /><br />Me: Well, that’s the plan.<br /><br />Phoenix: What will you do with it?<br /><br />Me: Teach it things. You can help me.<br /><br />Phoenix (gleam in eye): Really?<br /><br />Me: Oh dear Lord, what am I saying? Do NOT teach it how open cupboard doors or un-pot plants or steal honey bottles off the table or that weird thing you do when you put your back legs on the edge of bed and your front legs on the window sill and bark at things out the window.<br /><br />Phoenix: Every dog should know how to do that stuff. Seriously.<br /><br />Me: Seriously not. Just remember that it will be very little and it won’t know anything and you’ll need to be very patient with it.<br /><br />Phoenix: Will it pee in the house?<br /><br />Me: Probably once or twice.<br /><br />Phoenix: I never peed in the house.<br /><br />Me: Um. Yes, you did.<br /><br />Phoenix: I don’t remember that.<br /><br />Me: I bet there’s a lot of things you don’t remember doing.<br /><br />Phoenix: Papa says he likes how quiet it is with just one dog around.<br /><br />Me: Papa is confused.<br /><br />Phoenix: Will you take it to dog shows?<br /><br />Me: Yes.<br /><br />Phoenix: Will you take it instead of me?<br /><br />Me: No. I will take you both.<br /><br />Phoenix: Bet it won’t be as smart as me.<br /><br />Me: Sweetheart, I am sure it will be nothing like you.<br /><br />Phoenix (smugly): I’m one of a kind. <br /><br />Me: Amen.<br /><br />Phoenix: When will you get it?<br /><br />Me: Later this summer, when it gets really hot.<br /><br />Phoenix (thinking): Tomorrow? It will be really hot tomorrow.<br /><br />Me: Not that soon. It has to live with its brothers and sisters for awhile longer.<br /><br />Phoenix: You’re only getting one, right?<br /><br />Me: Yes.<br /><br />Phoenix: Is it a herding dog? <br /><br />Me: Yes.<br /><br />Phoenix: Not one of those birdy dogs or varmint dogs or hound dogs or fluffy dogs?<br /><br />Me: Umm . . . sometimes you’re one of those varmint dogs. You get varmints.<br /><br />Phoenix: That’s different. It needs to be a herding dog. They’re smart.<br /><br />Me: It’s a herding dog.<br /><br />Phoenix: Only one smaller-than-me, tri-colored, nubbin-tailed, tippy-over-eared boy or girl herding-dog smart fuzzball?<br /><br />Me: Yep.<br /><br />Phoenix: I suppose it’s okay. You should get it. Might be fun.<br /><br />(* Sleekit is a Scottish word that means smooth and shiny, or sneaky. Phoenix is, by all accounts, very sleekit.)tervnmalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16059486741282674657noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4901844543243405919.post-72750387395661805672014-05-26T15:05:00.001-07:002014-05-26T15:05:35.853-07:002014 Iowa Renaissance FestivalSpent part of today at the Iowa Renaissance Festival in Amana. In keeping with well-established Renaissance festival tradition, it rained. At least it was 75 degree rain as opposed to last year, which was 55 degree rain.<br />
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The turkey leg was tasty, the shows were entertaining, the people watching was, um, well, seriously, you just had to be there.<br />
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Here are some highlights. And yes, the white statue lady was "real."<br />
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