Category Archives: Dogs

One Lie Doesn’t a Liar Make

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I have an admission to make — I lied.

We all know lying is wrong, whether it’s a “little white lie” or an outright big one. I’ve already confessed it, and I know I’m forgiven.

But, realizing we all should learn from our faults, I still find myself stumped to have done anything different under the circumstances.

See if you agree.

Darling Doggie Dallas and I are fond of taking walks. Long walks on sunny, warm days.

He sniffs other dogs; I chat with their owners. We enjoy being together in nature.

One day as we were walking, a BIG dog of indeterminate lineage charged down its driveway and past a street with a median. To get at DD, who was prancing beside me, minding his own business and not making so much as a peep.

Now, Dallas isn’t a baby. Nor is he what you’d call a feather-weight. He’s a substantial boy (yea, we’re working on that!), but I did what I could to keep him away from the “barking bully.”

I didn’t see any cars at the bully’s house. No owners. No fence.

So I did what any “little girl” would do — I screamed.

Probably didn’t help the situation any.

Dallas and I escaped, but the more I thought about it, the angrier I became.

After all, our town has a leash law. Dogs aren’t supposed to be running willy-nilly all over the place, picking on others.

And I called the animal shelter to register a complaint. They promised me they’d look into it.

A few days passed, and DD and I were again walking.

The “barking bully”‘s owner was outside this time. Mowing his lawn.

And he accosted me, demanding to know whether I was “the one who called the animal shelter” on his dog.

Gulp! Had the animal shelter given away my information? Information they assured me would remain private?

Feeling a bit like a child caught with its hand in the cookie jar, I did what any “kid” would do.

I lied.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” is how I believe I phrased it. (Sounds a bit like Simon Peter denying Jesus at the well, doesn’t it??)

I’m pretty sure he knew I wasn’t being truthful. I’m not exactly a practiced liar, and I had to turn my head to avoid his angry eyes.

It turns out, he has one of those electronic fences, but apparently, he’s not vigilant about changing the batteries.

Figures, doesn’t it? He’s okay with being lax in his obligation and passing the blame to somebody else.

The question is, Why do I feel bad?

Simple — I feel bad for the “bully” dog. It’s left by itself for long periods at a time, not played with by the owner’s kids, not particularly liked by the neighbors because of its incessant barking.

Who buys a dog and then ignores it??

So, tell me, what would you have done in my situation?

Sheltie Fun in the Snow

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Dallas here.

Mama’s been shoveling ALL day, so I’m taking her blog hostage and posting my pretty pictures.

HeeHee, won’t she be mad when she sees what I’ve done?!

Yesterday we got this really big snow — somewhere in the neighborhood of a full foot of it, Mama said. Here’s what the trees in my backyard looked like:

Aren't they pretty?

Aren’t they pretty?

So Mama spent all this time shoveling and when she was ready to take a little break, she let ME come outside to survey her work. The first thing I had to check out was her tools, Mr. Shovel and Mr. Broom:

Interesting smells on this shovel, Mama!

Interesting smells on this shovel, Mama!

After I satisfied myself that she hadn’t been “cheating” with another dog, I decided to enter the tunnel. Wasn’t it sweet of her to build me a pathway? Probably had something to do with earlier in the day, when I got ALL snow-covered and she had to pick me up, carry me to the bathtub, wash me down, and dry me with the blow dryer, haha!

Does this tunnel make my butt look big??

Does this tunnel make my butt look big??

Being an adventurous sort, I decided to abandon the tunnel and strike out on my own. Mama wasn’t too happy to do all that work and have me venture into the snowy depths, to be sure. Mamas shouldn’t stifle their fur-kids’ bravery, don’t you agree?

Catching scents from far away!

Catching scents from far away!

Well, I turned again and again and this time, Mama caught me up close as I was watching for squirrels. Not too many stirring in the snow though:

This cold snow feels so good on my belly-fur!

This cold snow feels so good on my belly-fur!

Meandering past the frozen bird bath (and off the tunnel Mama made), I got a chance to play King of the Mountain. Watch me explore:

Marco. . . Polo -- got nothin' on me!

Marco. . . Polo — got nothin’ on me!

When Mama got tired of snapping pictures — and saw all the quarter-sized snowballs clinging to my underbelly — she called me back in. And here I was having so much fun. This is the look I gave her (think she got the message?!):

Mama, don't be a spoil-sport!

Mama, don’t be a spoil-sport!

 

Throw Me Something, Mister!

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We traveled to Gulfport, MS over My Favorite Domer’s month-long Christmas Break.

Visiting family, shopping, trying new restaurants, walking outside in warmer temperatures — all that sounded pretty good. Besides, Domer had to fly from there to Miami for the sorry lousy miserable National Championship slaughter game.

One fascinating difference between Central Illinois and the Mississippi Gulf Coast is their propensity to partay. Not that Illinoisans don’t like to have fun; just that we’re a bit tamer about it!

Anyway, as soon as New Year’s Day is over, folks down south bring out their Mardi Gras decor’ — and it’s especially obvious when Lent begins early as it does this year (Feb. 13).

It’s like they put Christmas back in the attic or storeroom and haul out Carnival.

Cool.

They bedeck their houses with purple, gold, and green garlands; hang lavish wreathes on their front doors; begin attending (and hosting) fancy formal parties; and some scramble for cheap plastic beads and other collectibles during a plethora of parades.

Of course, that’s easier there than here. After all, they don’t have snow on the ground!

Another thing that’s popular during Carnival season is the King Cake. This delicacy happens to be one of Domer’s favorites, and his grandmother never fails to make sure he gets one.

This year was no exception.

And guess who else happens to love cake? Any cake, not just the King variety?

Dallas! Witness his patience while Domer partakes of a hefty slice:

Please? Can I have a taste??

Please? Can I have a taste??

Funny Photo Friday

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My Favorite Domer sometimes thinks Darling Doggie looks sad.

And he doesn’t like the sad face.

So he asks him, “Dallas, are you happy?”

When Dallas doesn’t answer, Domer helps him out a bit.

This is what it looks like:

Yep, I'm a happy dog!

Yep, I’m a happy dog!

Life’s Brevity

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Despite the human qualities we’ve managed to breed into our dogs, there’s one thing we’ve not been able to change:

Dogs’ lives are shorter than man’s.

That means most of us who love dogs will share our lives with several beloved pets.

It also means that we’ll have to “man up” and end the lives of some — the ones who are in pain, the ones facing incurable illness.

As Dallas’s breeder has reminded me several times since I purchased him, that’s a contract between us and the pet, and it must not be broken.

Now before anybody starts worrying, this is NOT about Dallas. He’s fine, thank you very much; he’s young and healthy and plans to be here for a long time!

But as we were taking our walk this morning, we came across a lady and her Husky.

I imagine this was a beautiful dog — once.

I imagine it was young. And healthy. And strong.

But I never knew it then. All I’ve ever seen is the old dog. The one barely able to drag its hind legs. The one who typically crumples to the ground every time it tries to potty. The one who “dribbles” long before exiting the house because it can’t hold it any longer, despite having parents who regularly are home to tend to its needs. The one whose eyes seem to indicate he’s straddling two worlds now.

‘How’s he getting along?’ I asked her.

‘My dad says we need to put him down before the ground freezes, or we’ll have to have him cremated,’ she tells me. ‘But we just can’t. Not yet.’

On one hand, I empathize with her. I’ve been there. I, too, had a dog that begged to be put to sleep. A dog whose soulful eyes followed me as he lay in pain on the sofa. A dog who often soiled my apartment and fell over when trying to lift his leg outside.

I, too, didn’t want to make that choice. But it was the right thing to do and somehow I managed.

She will, too. At least she has a husband and they can heal together. I was young and single, so I wept alone.

Putting a pet down is one of the harder things I’ve had to do. Pets become members of our family, providing companionship and unfailing loyalty. They call forth our best traits, enabling us to give unselfishly, prompting us to exercise, and calming us with wet kisses. They’re babies who never become mouthy pre-teens, model children who never ask to borrow the car or increase their allowance; they’re happy just to be near us, even if we’re not rich and famous. Or “cool.”

Chances are, I’ll outlive Dallas. While I’d prefer he simply pass away peacefully in his sleep, I know that might not happen. I pray I’ll have the courage to do that one final kindness for him, when the time comes.

Just don’t expect me to do it dry-eyed.

And the Winner Is…

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Darling Doggie and I thank everybody for playing along on our little “Name the Sheltie” contest.

We got LOTS of guesses — ranging from Irish names like “Seamus” and “Knute,” to cute names like “Fluffy” and “Silky.” From “girly” names like “Honey-Bear” and “Shannon” and “Flossy” to cats’ names like “Socks” and “Rusty.”

However, NO ONE guessed accurately. And here, I thought I’d given you too many clues!

So, Darling Doggie supervised while I wrote everybody’s name on a slip of paper (sorry, but only one slip per person — more guesses didn’t earn you additional chances, this isn’t a county fair or a church picnic!). Then I took those slips of paper and dropped them into a plastic cup. I swirled them around and around, but figured that wasn’t quite sufficient, so I took an identical plastic cup and sashayed them back and forth until they were good and mixed up.

Only then did I close my eyes, reach in, and pull out one slip.

One name. Belonging to one person.

Are you eager to find out who it was?

Or is the identity of Darling Doggie more pressing?

Bet you’d all have a fit if I refused to tell you either the winner or the Sheltie’s name, wouldn’t you??

Okay, enough suspense.

The person whose name I drew from the cup — winner of my hand-beaded chandelier earrings — is none other than Katybeth!

Congratulations, my friend!

I swear I didn’t rig it, just because it was her idea in the first place.

Katybeth, if you’ll e-mail me (ole miss debbie at gmail dot com — minus the spaces, of course), I’ll package these babies up and send them right to you.

And now for the “reveal” — Darling Doggie, the Sheltie, is named “Dallas.”

Big D. Lone Star. A stone’s throw from where Domer was born 21 years ago.

I told you the Sheltie was a “big boy,” didn’t I? And that he was the lone male in a litter of three?

And if you’d really been observant, you’d have noticed that w-a-a-a-y back in my blogging history, I mentioned his name. Hover your mouse cursor over the photos, and you’ll see I’m right.

And I know I’ve mentioned that I worked in Texas before moving back to Illinois.

So you see? The clues were there all along!

Inquiring Minds Want to Know

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My friend Katybeth brought up this question, and I assured her I’d try to answer it — What’s the Sheltie’s name?

He’s been pictured beside me ever since I started blogging three years ago, but I’ve been consistent in calling him “the Sheltie” or “Darling Doggie.”

Most of the time.

But he tells me he’s not happy with this cloak of anonymity.

Even if it was woven to protect him.

“Are you ready for me to tell the world your name?” I asked.

“Sure, mom, go ahead. But why not have some fun out of it? Make ’em guess!”

So let’s have us a little contest, shall we? Place your guess (or guesses, if you’re feeling really creative) in the comments below. The Sheltie and I promise to read (and in his case, guffaw) over each one and on Sunday (Oct. 28), we’ll announce the winner, based on whoever’s guess is closest (or most amusing!). If there’s no clear winner, we’ll draw one name out of a hat.

To be fair, if you already know my Sheltie’s name because you happen to know us, please don’t participate — give the others a chance, ‘k?

Here are some “hints”:

  • The Sheltie is a male
  • The Sheltie will be six years old next month
  • The Sheltie was born in Illinois
  • The Sheltie is a “paper dog,” not a mixed breed
  • The Sheltie came from a litter of three — two girls and him
  • Don’t even think about calling him Lassie!

To reward the winner, I’m prepared to part with one of my beaded jewelry creations (what can I say? The Sheltie drives a hard bargain!). Here’s the photo and the description:

Chandelier earrings

This is a pair of silver filigree Chandelier Earrings, approximately 4 inches in length. Each earring features:

  • Top section — one 4mm fuchsia bicone flanked by two 4mm sterling plated round beads
  • Middle section — two 5mm pink pearls flanking a single 6mm emerald green bicone (with two silver daisy spacers)
  • Bottom section — one long antique silver tube bead

The earrings also contain silver headpins and eye pins as findings and leverback ear wires. Despite the length, they really are light!

Note: Most people would consider these earrings “costume” jewelry; they’re not made from real silver, nor do they contain precious gemstones. Depending on the winner’s preferences, I could be persuaded to switch out the ear wires for sterling silver ones and I could leave off the bottom tier (shaving off nearly an inch of length, for those uncomfortable with dangling earrings). If you’d just like to play along without being entered in the drawing, let us know that, too. We’ll try not to sulk or pout!

Time to Count Blessings Again

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They say a mom always knows when something’s not right with one of her kids. I think that holds true for “fur-kids” as well.

Case in point: my Sheltie.

First off, he’s a big boy. He was bigger than his two sisters from the get-go and over the past almost-six years, he’s packed on the pounds.

This, despite my careful measuring of his food, supplementing with green beans and raw carrots, regular walks, and lots of “Fetch” and “Chase.”

I tried to tell myself he was just big-boned. That he takes after his “substantial” mama. That his profuse coat is what makes him appear big.

But you can only deny the figures so long. And the scale wasn’t his friend.

So I went on line to learn about weight gain in dogs and found that Shelties tend to have problems with low Thyroid. This condition is often undiagnosed, but it results in a less-than-luxurious coat, frequent ear infections, skin allergies, and weight gain.

Hmm, sounds like my doggin, I thought.

At his checkup in early September, the vet pointed out that he’d ballooned to almost 40 pounds (on what should be a 30-lb. frame!)

So I asked to have his thyroid levels checked. ‘It’s a simple blood test,’ they assured me, before drawing blood from his forearm. “We’ll send it to a lab in Michigan and have the results back in about a week.’

“Cheer up, mom!”

I waited. And worried.

And one day my fears seemed to take over.

What if something was seriously wrong, I wondered.

How could I live without my “soul dog?”

Well, the answer came in, and it was as I’d thought — low thyroid.

I’m glad to have a diagnosis.

I’m glad to have been right.

But mostly, I’m glad it’s not fatal. The Sheltie has to take a pill twice a day, morning and evening, probably for life.

It could be so much worse.

Me and My Shadow

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The Band of the Fighting Irish is going to Dublin, Ireland, for Notre Dame’s first football game this fall!

That’s the good news. Those, like My Favorite Domer, who early on expressed interest in going, have already acquired their passports and paid their fees.

The bad news is, not everybody can go. With close to 400 members, it’s no wonder. The logistics of transporting them, not to mention the costs, are practically unthinkable, and the incoming freshmen won’t even have learned the marching style or participated in one game.

So how will the directors pick and choose?

Auditions, naturally.

Domer has taken to heart their advice to keep his chops in good working order by practicing. Daily.

After work he gets the ole trumpet out and holes up downstairs, where he runs up and down scales, refreshes his memory on various school songs, and starts learning the new music designed to impress the overseas Irish (and any alumni lucky enough to snag a ticket!).

Practice isn’t a lonely time, though. Far from it.

My trusty Sheltie, it seems, has a phenomenal ear when it comes to music.

Who would have thought??

So when Domer brings out the trumpet, no matter where in the house the Sheltie is, he makes a beeline toward the practice room. And while Domer plays, Sheltie sings.

First, he checks out the instrument:

Gotta make sure everything’s okay, Kid

Then, he throws back his head and attempts a few notes:

I am Sheltie — hear me sing!

Then he pauses to think about it for a few minutes:

 

Just warming up for the high notes, Mom

And finally, he leans way back and howls away:

 

Matching your tone, Kid — let’s go higher!

Shetland Sheepdogs originated in Scotland — who knows, perhaps this one hears the wail of the pipes in my son’s horn??

Doesn’t matter. He’s at least doing what he’s supposed to, comforting and encouraging “his kid” in something that could be fraught with nerves and fear — another audition.

At least Domer has already made the first cut on the Going-to-Ireland list. But it’s up to him to keep his spot!

Obviously, the Sheltie can’t go with Domer to his audition several weeks down the road, but I suspect he’ll be there in spirit. And Domer will have a hard time playing a note without hearing his trusty sidekick singing along!

Tell me, Does your dog sing?

It’s Called Coprophagia, and It’s Just Plain Gross!

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“What’s for snack-time, Mom?”

Does this look like the face of a dog who’d eat his own waste??

The fancy medical term for dogs eating poop is Coprophagia. The most common reaction from humans is, “Yuck!”

Experts theorize there are numerous reasons why a dog might eat poop (his own, or that of other animals):

  • Boredom, loneliness, anxiety, or stress
  • Interesting taste (yeah, I know — Yuck!)
  • Insufficient nutrients in its own food
  • Filthy yard, or tiny space to run in
  • Internal parasites
  • Natural tendency of mother dog to “hide the evidence” and protect her young from predators
  • Submission to dominant others in the canine household

One study also found that Fido is “trained” to eat poop by the very humans who find the habit so disgusting! It works like this: Fido takes a sample, Human shrieks and shoos him away; Human scoops up the waste and hides it in a bag. Fido becomes more curious about the hidden goodies. The next time he spots waste, he plays the old snatch-and-grab game, only faster to beat the Human from getting to the waste first. And a bad habit is formed.

I’ve had several dogs in my lifetime, but never have I had one that eats waste — until now.

‘Shelties are clean animals,’ his breeder swears. ‘Mine don’t do that.’

I’ve called my dog’s vet several times about this disgusting habit. The docs and their staff don’t seem concerned.

Probably because they’re not the ones seeing him do it, nor are they the ones the dog wants to kiss later on!

They suggested I purchase packets of For-Bid, to sprinkle on his food and keep him from sampling his waste. But that would only work on his waste, right?

And I’m already slipping bits of pineapple into his food, to little avail (pineapple is supposed to come out with a bad taste and scent to dogs).

Some suggest adding hot sauce to the waste once it’s out. Wouldn’t it just be easier to pick the stuff up, away from the dog’s line of vision?

I’ve done everything I can think of — keep him exercised, feed him a good-quality dog food, and regularly pick up the yard.

But he’s still sampling.

I’m open to suggestions. Fire away, and I’ll be ever grateful if we can break this bad habit.