Category Archives: Dogs

How’s Lent Working Out for You So Far?

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My pretty boy's face

Sometimes I think my dog is a better Christian than I am.

He’s never read the Bible. Never studied the Catechism. Never been inside a church. He’s never attended a prayer group, never joined with others in praise songs.

But he knows how to act lovingly. He grasps wrong from right and generally seems to choose ‘right.’ And he knows who his mistress is and how to stay on her good side. Witness these examples:

  • He doesn’t fail to put me ahead of everything else (well, except maybe food!).
  • When I call, he listens and responds. I’ve never heard him reply, ‘Just a minute, ‘k?’
  • He doesn’t demand to know why he has certain ‘talents’ instead of others. He’s good at herding, for example, but doesn’t pine for a swimming pool.
  • He never grumbles and complains when things don’t go his way.
  • His greatest delight is spending time with me. If I interrupt his nap to go for a walk, he’s right there with me.
  • He’s content to follow me wherever I go, without fighting me for the reins.
  • He’s always thankful. For a full tummy, a scratch beneath the chin, a romp through the house.
  • If I’m gone ‘too long’ by his book, he shreds a few newspapers, but never does he lie when I ask him about it.
  • He never questions my judgment but assumes I must know what I’m talking about.

We could learn a lot from our dogs!

Of course, there are dogs and there are dogs. Some, through poor early socialization or bad breeding or whatever, are doomed to be less than they could have been. They don’t bond with their owners; they prefer the animal world to that of humans.

Others are like Mary Poppins, ‘practically perfect in every way.’ They seem attuned to you, to be the better part of you, keeping you grounded when life gets crazy, making you laugh through hardships, nursing you through illnesses, adoring you with their attentions.

Soul dogs, they’re called. And if you’ve ever been owned by one, you’ll know what I mean.

I don’t know whether all dogs go to Heaven when they die. I imagine, just like with people, there are some who won’t arrive there. But I’d bet my last dollar soul dogs go!

Who among us is as patient, as trusting, as kind, as unselfish, as a soul dog?

No, they can’t be born again, in the Christian sense. They can’t actively choose Jesus Christ. But perhaps God doesn’t call them to the same standards He calls us. Perhaps it’s enough that they do what they’re best at doing — loving, trusting, obeying.

Here Comes Santa Paws

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Where? Did somebody say Santa Paws? Where is he?

He’s not in the fireplace, Mom!

He’s not outside, either!

I don’t see him here

Wait! I think I heard him!

I’ll just look cute and wait for him! Happy Holidays, Y’all!

An Almost-Escape

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A few days before Thanksgiving, our yard man showed up to mow/mulch in what we anticipated would be his final appearance until next spring.

Now this is a guy we’ve used in the past, several times in fact. He generally does a decent job, is reasonably fast, and (when we remind him) edges and blows off the sidewalks and driveway.

I distinctly remember cautioning him when he first reported for duty that I have a dog. The gate, I said, needs to be shut and locked when he finishes — every time, no excuses.

Okay, he said.

Being a Nervous Nellie, I always checked after he left to make certain he’d done just that.

And he had.

One can grow complacent in the face of reliability.

The day in question was dreary. Foggy. Damp. Drizzly. Cold.

As soon as the yard man left, Mom opened the door so Darling Doggie could relieve himself.

In his nice, safe, fenced yard.

Did you check the gate? I asked her.

No, he always shuts it, she said.

Something insisted I check.

I took out a bag of trash and found Darling Doggie standing on the back porch. A quizzical expression flitted across his furry face.

I need to check the gate, I told him. He beat me there and stood about a yard inside staring at the OPEN gate!

My heart skipped a beat, or maybe more.

Patting him and praising him for being a good dog, I inserted myself between him and the gate, and swiftly shut the thing and locked it.

He followed me inside, where I promptly gave him a Pupperoni treat.

But as he slept that afternoon (and as I fell asleep that night), scary images raced through my mind:

What if he’d seen a squirrel or cat and given chase?

What if he’d become disoriented in the world beyond the gate and couldn’t find his way back home?

What if I’d had to track him all over the county?

What if someone had stolen him?

What if a strange dog had come into our back yard?

What if I hadn’t checked that gate?

Those whose hearts have never been claimed by a dog probably can’t understand the panic I felt. Pets rely on us their entire life, not like babies who eventually grow up and often move away.

So St. Francis, thank you for the insistent nudge, for looking after my Sheltie!

And next time, I don’t care how reliable a worker is — you can bet I’m going to check that gate before sending my doggie outside.

Things I Wish my Sheltie Knew

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Memo to my Darling Doggie:

1) There’s no prize for beating me up or down the stairs. So you won — big deal. You also took a chance I’d step on you or cause us both to topple to the ground when you cut in front of me. In short: it wasn’t a race, okay?

2) I can use the bathroom by myself. Seriously. It’s unnecessary for you to follow me in there, to make sure I’m doing what I said I’d be doing. I’ve been doing things like this for years now, without your help, and while I appreciate your concern, it’s misplaced.

3) Lunchtime is for me, not you. As an “adult” dog, you’re supposed to get one meal per day. Because you’re so insistent, I’ve split that meal into two smaller servings, one at breakfast and the other at dinner. So when I eat at noon, I eat — not you. And stop that begging with your soulful eyes — you’re one tough customer to turn down!

4) The vacuum cleaner is not an assassin. Thank you for trying to protect me, but carpets need to be swept now and then. The “sweeper” isn’t attacking me just because it’s moving forth and back and making a roaring sound. And no, I won’t chase you all over the house with it!

5) There’s NO food in the backyard. I try to keep your “leavings” picked up, but I can’t prevent other animals (cats, squirrels, rabbits, etc.) from using the lawn as their bathroom. However, those leavings are not tasty morsels left outside for your dining pleasure. Besides, that’s just gross!

6) I don’t particularly like cutting your toenails and cleaning your ears. I do it because that’s one of the silent bargains I made when I took you into my home. Somebody would be responsible for doing for you what you couldn’t do for yourself. So be still and let me finish; this will go quicker and less painfully if you cooperate.

7) One bark is sufficient. When the doorbell rings, you really don’t have to bark a dozen times to let me know. I heard you the first time, and trust me, whoever’s there won’t simply go away! That goes for the annoying squirrel playing in our neighbor’s tree, too.

8) Suitcases don’t mean forever. I take you on trips when I can, but sometimes I can’t. Pulling out suitcases doesn’t mean I’m leaving forever, and it’s really not necessary for you to slink off into a corner and pout.

Love, Mom

Of Dogs and Cats

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I read the results of an Associated Press poll today that said some 60 percent of American pet owners believe it’s okay to declaw a cat but 8 percent think it’s wrong to de-bark a dog.

Are they crazy?

First off, I’m not a cat-lover. Never have been. In fact, despite my nickname, I’ve been afraid of cats since I was a child and reached beneath a bush to pet one, only to have the imp rake its claws down the inside of my forearm.

No scars, but oh, the pain!

Still, to anesthetize a pet kitty and basically remove the first digits of its paws sounds cruel to me.

I understand some owners’ concerns about those claws. Cats do scratch — kids in the family, people who come over to visit, the furniture, the walls, whatever.

That can’t be pretty.

But cats are hunters and about the only way they can protect themselves is by scratching.

So they need their claws.

Seems to me that’s the price one pays for wanting to “own” a cat, if that’s even possible!

As for dogs, well, I’ve been a dog lover most of my life, and I can’t even visualize why someone would consider removing a dog’s vocal cords, thereby rendering it unable to bark.

While some breeds are more “vocal” than others, an owner must assess why the dog is barking — boredom, anxiety, attention-seeking, playfulness, or because every other dog around is barking (the “me, too” factor!)

Owners also should not leave Fido outside for long periods of time to annoy the neighbors; they should make sure the dog gets plenty of exercise to release pent-up energy.

I know someone who raises dogs and had several de-barked because of the constant clamor. The little things now kind of squeak, a breathy noise that sounds painful to me, though the owner says they’re not in pain and the procedure was fairly routine.

Dogs are supposed to bark. That’s their warning signal that something’s amiss. True, it might be nothing more than a squirrel tight-roping across the power lines and jumping into a nearby tree, but they’re going to let the world know about it!

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sheltie Paws

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Like many other long-haired breeds, Shelties require at least periodic grooming.

They’re naturally clean, but you still have to bathe and brush, as well as trim excess fur in places like ears and feet.

Normally, I do my doggin’s grooming myself. His breeder has graciously mentored me and, while I’m no expert, my dog comes away looking like a Sheltie should look.

It also gives us a chance to bond, accustoms him to being handled, and saves a few bucks!

But last week, after returning from Gulfport, I decided to take him to a local groomer, one he’s been to several times before, one who usually does a decent job with him.

Until this time.

This is what his front paws look like after her grooming:

Bad Sheltie paw

Eeek, ugly!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notice how the nails look like talons and the fur is “sliced” back to expose the claws? Notice the sprigs of hair sticking out all over? You can’t really tell in this photo, but it’s cut in layers, almost exposing the foot.

Nothing close to what a true Sheltie paw should look like. She must have used straight scissors, when you’re only supposed to use thinning shears to blend the furs.

So what does a true Sheltie paw look like? This:

Pretty Sheltie paws, thanks to Sheltie Nation for the image

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

See how the nails don’t stick out? See how the feet look like tight cotton balls?

It’s not easy to do, but if you’re going to capture that pretty Sheltie look, you’ve got to make the feet right!

In all fairness, my boy’s groomer admitted to feeling lousy with a head cold; she didn’t admit (or deny) having a flunky sub on the grooming for her, but what else can I conclude?

No, my Sheltie isn’t a show dog, but he’s MY show dog. And I know he knows he’s not at his prettiest with paws this ugly.

Still, fur grows out eventually, and his will, too. When that happens, count on me to do the trimming!

Diarrhea + long-haired dog = Ewww!

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Last weekend, my darlin doggin was sick — with diarrhea, no less.

Now you might think that’s no big deal. That doggins get little stomach upsets all the time. That they act “puny” for a day or so, then perk back up.

Well, a dog’s digestive system is pretty short, but that doesn’t compensate for the aggravation such upsets cause.

You see, my Sheltie is a long-haired boy, with full “skirts” on his backside. Yeah, even in males, that fluffy fur on the hind legs is referred to as a “skirt.”

Skirts and diarrhea don’t go together, trust me!

I’ll spare you the details — be glad you didn’t have to smell it, either. What concerned me was what he got into. Could it be:

  • Medication. Giving too much medicine at once can make doggins sick. I gave him his monthly heartworm pill on the first, as usual, and waited until the following day to administer his anti-flea treatment.
  • Food. I’ve learned you can’t simply switch a dog’s food from one brand to another. You need to taper off the old and gradually introduce the new to prevent stomach upsets.
  • Chemicals. We don’t use chemicals on our lawn, and I keep him off laws that I know use them. Unfortunately, I can’t watch everybody 24/7!
  • Wildlife. We’ve got our share of squirrels, cats, and bunnies that regularly traipse across the back yard. What, they don’t smell the dog, for pity’s sake?

Of course this was over a weekend — a holiday weekend — and the vet’s office was closed. But when I finally did reach them, they said dogs, like people, get viruses. Or maybe he found a baby bird and scarfed it up.

Watch him, they advised. Sometimes doggins can get worms from eating wildlife. Yuck!

It’s been a week now, and the good news is, No worms! The not-so-good news is, I still don’t know what caused him to be sick.

My guess is chemicals. So I’ve taken to using a wet wipe to swab his paws after our walks, and I’m going to space his monthly meds out a bit more come August.

And pray that will keep the sickness at bay!

How NOT to Walk a Dog

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Something happened this morning that I’m still fuming about!

I was walking my darling doggin, minding our own business, when a man approached from the opposite direction walking two terriers.

Now I’ve seen these “matching bookends” before, but my Sheltie and I haven’t had up-close-and-personal contact with them (and in all fairness, the guy walking them wasn’t the owner; I’m guessing he’s a son or in-law).

Anyway, my doggin (being his friendly self) approached to say “hi.” The boy dog seemed agreeable, but the girl dog suddenly started growling and trying to attack my doggin!

Before I could blink, that vixen wrapped her leash around my legs and jumped on my doggin’s back, where she was trying to grab a mouthful of his skin (good thing his coat’s so profuse!)

Was I furious!

I could tell my poor doggin was frantic to escape — so was I. The boy terrier looked on in curiosity as I worked to untangle the leashes; the girl dog snarled, and the guy said something lame like, “That’s not nice, Ruby.”

Not nice?? What did he think she was — a debutante, for crying out loud?

When I walk my dog, I use a retractable leash but it’s locked so he walks close by my side. That’s the proper way to walk — it prevents him from jumping on other walkers or lunging after squirrels.

This idiot had a retractable leash, too, but it was WIDE OPEN! Those dogs were walking him, not the other way around.

When my doggin and I finally made our getaway, I checked him over — no blood, thank heaven. However, I have a nice cut on my shin where “Ruby’s” leash dug into it, and I’m not happy about it. Not one bit!

You can be sure we’ll steer a wide berth around “Ruby” when we see her coming in the future. Guess that’s why my wise friend always says, “They don’t call girl-dogs bitches for nothing!”

Making the Tough Decision

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A friend of mine had to make a tough decision yesterday.

Her dog disappeared overnight and, when she finally found it, it was bleeding and had curled up under an old parked car, presumably to die.

Of course, she rushed it to the vet’s office and had x-rays done.

The results weren’t good — the dog’s back was broken.

She had two options:

1) Send the dog up the road to the nearest veterinary college and let them operate, or

2) Have the dog put to sleep (euthanized) right then.

Not a real good way to end a month, huh?

Choice #1, surgery, didn’t carry any guarantees of success, despite the projected cost of several thousand dollars.

Choice #2 was a permanent solution and would end her dog’s life.

Reluctantly, she picked euthanasia.

As a lifelong dog owner, I feel her pain, and I know it’s going to take a long time for the ache in her heart to heal.

We get so attached to our pets. They gladly become our “babies,” our companions; they follow us around, tongue lolling, eyes bright, ever ready to play, to participate in something fun, to go for a walk or car ride, to lie at our feet and doze while we read or work on our computers.

Who could put a price on such loyalty?

Therefore, when “the time comes” to make the tough decision about when to end their lives, it’s incumbent on those of us who love them to make the kindest, gentlest choice.

They deserve nothing less.

And, while the Bible doesn’t directly address the question of whether pets go to Heaven, I believe they do!

Revelation 19 speaks of Jesus coming from Heaven to earth on a white horse.

So it seems perfectly possible that we will meet up with our beloved pets at the Rainbow Bridge — and what a reunion that will be!

Oops!..not again??

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With apologies to Britney Spears, “DRAT!..I did it again”!!

I was trying to cut Darling Doggie’s toenails this afternoon when I accidentally got too close to the quick and made him bleed.

I HATE that!!

The breeder who sold him to me claims a dog’s paws are a long way from its heart, and it won’t bleed to death.

But I’d rather cut myself — any day — than hurt him!

So I tried to stop the blood by putting a paper towel around his paw.

Didn’t work.

Then I wet one of those styptic pencils and gently applied it to the bleeding nail (which happened to be his dew claw, or thumbnail).

It slowed a bit, thank heaven.

I think what helped the most was letting him lick his own wound.

There’s “magic” in a dog’s saliva, you know.

Kind of like when a little kid gets a “boo-boo” and Mom kisses it away.

I didn’t have the heart to nip the rest of his nails.

Not after that.

So I put the grooming bucket away for another day.

And gave him an especially nice treat for being such a good boy and putting up with me.

He’s trying to nap now, but my heart is still aching.

Isn’t it amazing dogs can forgive us so readily when we humans get all bent out of shape at the slightest slights and hold grudges, sometimes for years, at those around us??

By the way, if anybody has a suggestion for making this toenail-cutting job “friendlier” for me and Darling Doggie, we’d BOTH thank you!!