Sleeping Sheltie
Looks like somebody got into the eggnog?? Or was it the Pupperoni snacks?
‘Mom, get that camera out of my face! I’m trying to nap here.’
Mind your manners, Doggin.
‘Okay. Happy New Year 2012 and thank you all for reading Mom’s blog!’
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!
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.
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:
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!
I just got back from my first football weekend at Notre Dame, and I’m stoked to capture it all! But, writer that I am, I took in so many impressions I’ll have to break them up over a few days’ time.
Let’s get the preliminaries out of the way today.
This was a BIG DEAL for me. I imagine lots of people go to college football games every year, but I’m one who hasn’t.
Not that I haven’t wanted to.
It’s just that I live 500 or so miles from my alma mater (Go Rebels!), and that’s a pretty far piece to travel for a three-hour game.
So I watch on TV every Saturday, screaming at the screen, yelling with the fans, and scaring my poor Sheltie senseless!
And even when I was an undergrad, I was in the Band all four years, so I never really had to figure out the logistics of attending a game. Things like: how do you get a ticket, where can you park, what can you bring (or not bring) into the stadium, how do you find your seat.
That sort of thing.
So last year, when My Favorite Domer asked me to come to a Notre Dame game, I panicked and put him off. Couldn’t get tickets, couldn’t get a hotel room.
‘Fraidy-cat. Big time.
This year, he tried again, only he was ready for my excuses. He fired up his laptop and found me a convenient hotel (so it was in the next county, but Indiana isn’t that big!); he even sent me a link to order my tickets online.
How could I refuse?
My sister (who’s been married forever) said I was very brave to try something like this by myself. Several friends, jealous they couldn’t get tickets for the season’s first game under a brand new coach, insisted I take LOTS of pictures so they could experience it vicariously. Even my mom volunteered to go with me and stay in the hotel “so I wouldn’t be alone.”
They thought I was NUTS for wanting to be alone!
But I wasn’t. There were 80,000-plus fans screaming right alongside me!
Tomorrow, I’ll share more sights and sounds from campus.
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:
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!
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!”
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!!
Everybody knows one of the first things you’re supposed to teach a dog is how to come when called.
It’s hard to do that when you have a fenced backyard and never take your pooch outside the yard off-lead.
Sure, I realize the “Come here” lesson could save my dog’s life one day; at the very least, it could save me a lot of frustration and time.
But I failed to insist my Sheltie learn it, and I paid for it yesterday.
We’ve been having lots of wet weather — melting snows, freezing fogs, etc. — and the backyard, frankly, looks like a muddy mess. We normally have the spaces between our shrubs covered over with mulch, but mulch doesn’t last forever. You have to keep adding it, or you wind up with bare spots — that become wet dirt.
And wet dirt sticks to puppy paws and fur.
Yesterday, my Sheltie went outside and found all sorts of interesting things to do. He chased birds and squirrels, he raced from one corner to another, he danced through the melting snow, AND he refused to come in when I called him.
I watched as his fur became filthier and his white paws became a nasty shade of brown, yet there was nothing I could say or do to convince him to give up his fun.
Eventually, we lured him inside with a cookie. Then I began the lengthy process of throwing him in the bathtub, washing him down, shampooing, blow-drying, and brushing his fur.
None of which had been on my planning schedule, of course!
So I’ve done a bit of research on this “Come here” command and guess what? I’m as guilty as the next person for actually teaching my dog that “fun times” don’t include me!
Yikes, what have I done?
According to Perfect Paws, my Sheltie thinks:
1) I’m ruining his fun by calling him in, or
2) I’m going to punish him for turning into a mud-dog
Perfect Paws advises that I should never let my dog off-lead (and I suppose this includes his own backyard) unless and until he can reliably come when called.
I have my work cut out for me — he’s become lazy and spoiled, and I can just imagine him looking at me and saying, “You want me to work for a kibble, when all I have to do is look cute and somebody will feed me people-food?”
It promises to be a fun-filled experience.
I came back from Christmas vacation with the same cold I had last November — ugh!
So, instead of belaboring my runny nose, stuffy sinuses, coughing, and general misery, I’ve decided to put on my “Little Mary Sunshine” persona and count some of my blessings. Here goes:
1) My Job. I can do Web Design whether I’m sniffling or not. I can schedule client meetings for when I feel less contagious, take care of the drudgery (filing, etc.) that has piled up, and teach myself new tricks — all from the comfort of my sickbed.
2) The Internet. Who says a sick person can’t shop?? Not me!
3) My Novel. Since I’m up to my ears in revisions, I’m not having to come up with new scenes (for the most part), connect the dots between plot lines, make sure my timeline is reasonable, etc. Plus, being sick gives me an “excuse” for foggy-thinking.
4) Beading. Working with many-colored, many-shaped beads is relaxing and offers another creative outlet. And I get to wear or sell some of the stuff I make!
5) My Sheltie. Dogs love you unconditionally. I’m sure they notice when you’ve always got a Kleenex at your nose, but it doesn’t seem to matter. I think what matters to them is the lackluster look in your eyes when they bring you a ball to toss!
6) NoteTabs. This cool product by Avery lets you write, mark, and highlight, right on the tabs! They’re more substantial than “sticky notes,” and they come in more than two dozen styles and colors.
7) January Thaw. Today, it was above 40 degrees!
8) My Family & Friends. They bolster me up, make me laugh, and turn my world into a warmer, cozier place. Thanks, everybody!
9) My Bed. Pity the poor people in Haiti who are suffering through the aftermath of an earthquake. Everything looks like it’s in ruins; kind of reminds me of what the Gulf Coast looked like after Hurricane Katrina in 2005.
10) Faith. God never gives us more than He and we can bear. As Scarlett O’Hara said, “Tomorrow is another day.”
Musings by an ND Domer's Mom 