About Holly

The other night I was watching a show on Animal Planet that showcased the antics of two Boxers.  Between bouts of laughter I would reach over and poke Holly.  "Wow does that look familiar!"  Each time Holly responded with "the look".  Due to her being part Great Dane, Holly has mastered the art of looking down her nose.  Believe me when I say the rest of her personality is all Boxer.

Holly was around 6 months old when we found each other.  She was scared of the dark which made it real interesting to take her out to go potty when we lived in the country where there were no streetlights.  Come evening if Holly and I were at opposite ends of the house with the lights off in between us, Holly refused to cross the dark barrier.  Lucky for Holly, I had spent so many years working night, sleeping days that I have problems sleeping in a dark room.  We sleep with the TV on, sound turned down and have nightlights through the rest of the house.  The latter is for Holly.

I had researched Boxers before deciding to get one.  I understood that they are high energy, very intelligent dogs who are prone to mischief.  Despite all information from breeders and trainers nothing truly prepared me for the "human" antics. 

You know that sound you make when you're exasperated?  The first time Holly puffed out her cheeks and let loose a short, quick exhale I thought I imagined it.  Then she got into practicing it on other people when they weren't paying her attention.  Oh yes, talk about positive reinforcement training.  And it encouraged Holly to mimic other human  actions / reactions. 

Holly was about a year old when she discovered she could dial my cell phone.  At the time I was on a limited minute plan.  Can you say OVERAGES!  I was stumped as to how this was happening.  Of course none of the wonderful people Holly was calling bothered to mention it to me until much later. 

One day I was doing laundry and Mom was at the other end of the house frying chicken.  Holly had been napping in the living room.  I looked up to see her trotting towards me carrying something.  Now her carrying things is not normal so curiosity lead me to ask "what do you have?"  Happily Holly brought me a piece of chicken.  Even though it was a boneless, skinless breast I couldn't imagine Mom giving one to Holly.  In response to "where did you get this?" Holly trotted back to the living room, waited for Mom's back to be turned and slipped into the kitchen to ease another piece from the plate on the counter.  To Holly's way of thinking, she had brought me a piece, she had a piece and we were good.  (I put both pieces in a Ziploc labeled for Holly only and stuck them in the freezer for two weeks.  She does not get rewarded for stealing.)

I know people say we assign human characteristics and qualities to our pets like it's a bad thing. All I have to say in response to that is, if it weren't for these human attributes there would be no guide dogs, no service dogs of any kind.  Holly is my constant companion.  She takes care of me and I take care of her.  It seems only natural we would learn from each other.

Heaven is

Dad was a Christian.  He believed upon his death he was going to Heaven where he'd spend eternity with God.  On a side note: Dad was also pretty positive he got to the Pearly Gates and St. Peter would hand over the leash of a Basset Hound.  In Dad's Heaven he'd have a woodworking shop.  There'd be a comfortable recliner in a library.  And his Basset would be welcome everywhere.  Perhaps because Mom refused to let Dad have a dog when he retired he figured God provide one.  Dad's Heaven also included trains and rivers like the Columbia on which he could watch boats and ships. 

If you asked me Dad's version of Heaven sounded a lot like Southwest Washington.  But hey, it worked for him.  Who am I to say if he was right or wrong? 

A few years later when Mom died I arranged her funeral.  Those attending were commanded to wear their most colorful outfits, think Hawaiian print, and to dress casual.  When the officiating pastor remarked he'd feel more comfortable in a suit, I strongly suggested he be wearing new/clean underwear.  Absolutely no one attending the service was to wear somber colors, black or white.  We didn't care if he was a pastor; the suit would have to go.

Mother was an artist.  Traditionally one wears black and white to gallery openings so not to compete with the paintings.  Mourners then don all the color they can for the funeral to celebrate the artist's life.  During her latter years Mom lost the ability to distinguish color.  Her world was reduced to shades of gray.  This was another good reason for the colorful send off.  Mom knew when she got to Heaven there'd be a fully stocked art studio waiting for her.

I buried my brother in a brand new pair of bib overalls and a t-shirt emblazoned with a smart-mouth comment symbolic to his sense of humor.  We made sure there were certain things in his pockets.  Blame Led Zeppelin and the song Stairway to Heaven.  Allow me to misquote "when he gets there he knows the stores will be closed."  My brother had often said that would be his luck.  Therefore we sent him off with everything but the rum to go with the Coke.  I sort of figure if rum is available in his Heaven it's far better quality than what we've got here.

This morning a very dear friend passed away.  Larry once told me his version of Heaven was pretty simplistic.  Heaven is where all animals are safe, happy and well tended.  Years ago some preacher tried telling him Heaven didn't have animals.  Larry said if that was the case, then he didn't want to go there.  How can it be a "better place" without dogs and cats?  Larry knew when he got to Heaven all his pets that preceded him would be waiting.

If Heaven is what we make of it, then Larry went to the same Heaven as my dad.  They're probably out walking their dogs along the riverbank.  In a bit they'll kick back in the library with cookies and milk, their dogs sleeping alongside their chairs.  

For all his years of service in animal rescue, delivering pet food to outlying communities through all kinds of weather so no animal would go hungry, and taking in "just one more" I am certain God came through for Larry. 

Welcome to Heaven,  my friend.  All critters are safe and well-loved.  Enjoy eternity.  Just don't forget the squeaky toy.

Larry 1937 to 2012

Zombies on the Roof

I fixed a bite to eat, grilled swiss cheese and ham sandwich, steamed asparagus and a lovely salad.  D*O*G of course was shadowing my every move around the kitchen and then into the living room.  The human has food.  No sooner than I got settled and the television on than Tommy, the cat, leapt to the right arm of my chair.  This action prompted Holly, my dog, to close in on my right knee allegedly to keep an eye on the cat.  In reality she was scoping out the plate to see if there was anything she wanted.  

You know it's like to eat with three sets of eyes intent on the movement of the fork?  Each of them practicing mental telepathy to convince me to share least they waste away in hunger. 

The dogs are worried the cat will help himself to something off the plate for he is closer.  D*O*G who had been sitting on my left foot runs out of tolerance for the cat and launches an attack.  Now I have the cat on the back of the chair trying to reach around to snag a bite before I get it.  My dog temporarily has retreated to the other side of the ottoman.  However, as she has decided she WILL get part of my sandwich she is doing her best to maintain eye contact.

And then the aliens arrived.  Brilliant flashes of light followed by rolling booms announced their descent into Earth's atmosphere.  Window panes rattled.  The whole house shook.  D*O*G ran in circles barking.  Holly stood up, looked around and took up position in front of but not facing me.  Meanwhile Tommy dropped back down onto the arm of the chair and tried to act like he was not pressing up against me for protection.

More aliens arrived.  One of their ships hit something. The crackling of the impact made all four of us wince.  D*O*G took off racing around the house barking shrilly.  Despite not having claws, Tommy had a death gripe on the arm of the chair.  Curious of what got hit, I set my plate on the breakfast bar and went to look out the windows.  About this time D*O*G determined he needed to go outside to fight the invaders.

I tried telling D*O*G it was lightning and thunder, right over head.  I told him he didn't want any part of what was going on outside.  But he's too short to see out the windows so he wasn't convinced.  He was positive we were under attack. 

Huge raindrops began to fall.  What looked like a solid wall of water marched through the development.  In no time we were encased in hazy gray darkness.  A thousand mini hammers pounded on the roof.  D*O*G tried enlisting Holly to go out with him to repel the aliens.  Her attitude was "mom has ham and swiss cheese; the aliens will have to wait". 

Most often storms like this are accompanied by strong wind.  This one was different.  There was hardly any wind thus making it very slow moving.  My gosh can it rain in North Carolina!  Hey, I'm from Oregon.  I know about rain.  But out here it rains hard and fast sort of like Oregon's coastal squalls.  My cell phone began chirping with National Weather Service alerts for flash floods.  Apparently D*O*G believed the alerts were a call to arms.  Since Holly, who is tall enough to see out the windows declined his recruiting efforts, D*O*G turned his attention to Tommy.

Lightning flashed.  Thunder boomed.  The house shook.  Windows and pictures rattled.  D*O*G and Tommy ran back and forth between the entrance hall and dining room, one barking and the other making clicking noises.  Holly and I just watched them.

A bit later I stretched out on the bed to read with Holly at my feet.  Having worn himself out, Tommy curled up next to me for a nap.  Finally D*O*G came into the bedroom and flopped on the floor.  For a few minutes, inside at least, it was quiet. 

I do not know what Tommy said to D*O*G but suddenly they were off racing around the house again.  A new sound caught my attention.  Figuring I'd best see what those two were getting into I stepped into the hall.  Two black bodies came rushing by.  Tommy missed the turn the slammed into the leg of an occasional table.  As I bent to see if he was ok my eyes caught a glimpse out the window.

Oh dear; the aliens have unleashed zombie hordes.  They marched acrossed the lawn and onto the roof.  The din of their assault was incredible.  Holly poked her head out of the bedroom to say "this doesn't sound good.  Maybe I should help D*O*G mount a counter attack."

First I took Holly to a window and said "do you see what that is?  You don't want any part of it."  Then I opened the blinds in D*O*G's room and put him up on the bed so he could see.  I swear I saw that dog's eyes grow wide.  "That is hail.  It will hurt you.  There are no zombies on the roof."  Tommy didn't believe me.  He hid under a quilt.  D*O*G remained standing on the bed growling under his breath.  I'm pretty sure he didn't believe me either.

I am pleased to report we suffered no damge during the alien attack.  The zombies failed to make it through the roof. 

thoughts on me and The Mommy

Hi all, I have a guest blogger - Holly.  She has a few words she'd like to share.

I have heard adults say if they are reincarnated they want to come back as Debi's dog.  Well, that's all fine and dandy but the pickup is still mine.  The Mommy bought it for me; I look wonderful in Atlantic Blue.  It is my mobile doghouse. And it may take you a life or two to get all the hair out of it. 

For all those people who refuse to ride with us because of my hair all over the truck, despite The Mommy spending hours vacuuming - just take yourself off in your sterile bubble.  Easy to see you are not a dog person.

And yes, those are my nose and tongue prints on the windows, mirrors and dashboard.  It's my truck.

Oh yeah, and that's my drool too.

People say I am spoiled.  Maybe it's a reaction to the word "spoiled" that prompts children to announce they want to come live with The Mommy and me.  I'll wait while those of you who know The Mommy well to stop laughing. 

Actually you know, I can see The Mommy snapping a leash on a human child and taking him or her to obedience class. 

Now as I think about it, really what is the difference between doggie daycare and childcare facilities?  Both have playtime, snacks and [usually a chainlink] fence.

Today I got very angry with The Mommy.  She got out the dreaded Dremel signaling it was time for my toenails to be trimmed.  I tried to run.  The doors were shut.  I tried to hide.  When The Mommy reached for one paw I whacked her with another.  Or spun around in hopes of crawling away.  I did my best "woe is me" expressions.  Looking up at The Mommy I pleaded with big brown, sad eyes.  None of this worked.  It never does.  We'd have a real fight on our hands if she even entertained the notion of clipping my nails. 

Now I'm sprawled across the clean laundry, half asleep and wondering what kind of fit a human child would pitch if someone took a Dremel to his or her nails? 

Cats first, and then dogs

Tommy is having an identity crisis.  Anyday now I'll catch him on the bathroom counter assessing his reflection in the mirror.  He's already staring at himself in windows and television screens (when the power is off).  I can see the wheels turning in his little head.

Classic Egyptian chiseled face - check.  Green eyes - check.  Whiskers - check.  Plume tail - check.

Then Tommy practises his voice running up and down the yowl scale.  He chirps and mews; acks and chatters.  Low purr mode is tested: barely audible - check; rumbling - check.  High purr mode is tested: loud enough to be heard over the phone - check; loud and vibrating - check.  The latter always results in more rubs from humans.

Final diagnostics: leaping in single bound to back of recliner - check; intwinning around humans legs - check; hardwood floor stealth mode - check. 

Tommy is having an identity crisis.  Multiple times a day he evaluates Holly.  Tall and blonde - check.  Pants and drools - check.  Barks and whines - check.  Cannot walk quietly on hardwood floor - check.  Summation: Holly is a dog. 

"You Human.  Yeah, you, the one the Blonde usually answers to.  We need to talk.  That tall tail-less blonde is a DOG.  I, short, black and handsome, am a CAT.  I know Holly normally gets a fish-based kibble due to her allergy to chicken.  But Human - you've gone too far and I'm extremely irked.  Let me explain to you the natural order of things.  I am a cat.  Humans are on the earth to serve cats, not dogs.  How dare you fix a dog special meals when I, the cat, get only the usual kibble?  Has it occured to you to share a morsal or two with me?  I will make you pay for your insulance.  I will make the dog pay for reaping superior treatment.  I am the CAT!"

Holly's been sick.

"Yeah, yeah; she got bit by a spider.  Her face went all lopsided and goofy looking."

She had to go to the doctor.  It may take a year or more for the toxins from the bite and steriods (medicine) to clear her system.  Holly hasn't been feeling much like eating, which is causing more problems.  So, to help her get better I'm fixing her meals.

Tommy got right up in my face.  His green eyes stared unwavering into mine. "Human; you're missing the point.  I am the cat.  No dog is to ever, ever eat better than me.  I GET THE TUNA!"

(ok, I heard the sudden inhale and before you exclaim "you're feeding your dog tuna?"  allow me to explain.  Holly is getting rice cooked down to mush flavored with albacore, water packed, tuna at a ratio roughly 1 cup mush to 1 teaspoon tuna.  Think of this as a bland diet.  As her appetite picks back up I'll begin adding kibble to the mix gradually taking her off the mush.)