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Author Archives: Donna Black-Sword

Agendas are for sissies

Gee, Brain, what are we going to do tonight? asks Pinky
The same thing we do every night, says the Brain. Try to take over the world.
                          –Pinky and The Brain cartoon series 1995-1998

So, what do you what to do today? asks the Husband.

The same thing we did yesterday, is my reply. I want to see stuff we don’t see in Ohio.

Again? he asks. Could you be more specific?

Alrighty then. What do you want to do today? says me.

I don’t know, he says.

Well, I say. I kinda win then, don’t I?

This Day Two of our California adventures. We don’t have a solid itinerary for the week because I enjoy the leisurely pace of just checking things out as we drive about. You know, seeing things not on the brochures and maps. And because I suck at planning.

While the Husband is pulling himself together and wondering if he should wear his good shoes or the tennies, I’m giving Facebook a quick check.  And what’s this?

Oh my.

Ah, my love, I say. We got us a change in plans.

We had plans? he asks

Not sure if that was sincere or sarcasm, I wave off the comment and tell him what I found out while in the etherworld.

The focal point of this California trip was to check off a bucket list goal of visiting the Santa Rosa campus of Canine Companions for Independence. Since becoming volunteer puppy raisers in 2008, this organization has become a huge part of our daily lives. I have had a CCI puppy by my side every day for the past four years, at work, home and play. The Santa Rosa campus is the headquarters of CCI. It’s also where the breeding program is managed.

We had this visit on the agenda for Tuesday (see, I can too plan.), but I find out that a fellow puppy raiser, who is also a breeder/caretaker, is dropping off her dog’s litter at CCI this morning. Ah, serendipity at its finest.

Wendy and Dave raised the lovely Sabina for CCI, who was later selected as one of the “best of the best” for CCI’s breeding program. Sabina’s “C” litter of pups will be arriving in Santa Rosa for their health check before they go out to their puppy raisers.  I send a quick note to Wendy across the wifi as a heads up that we’ll be crashing their puppy party this morning.

As a bonus feature, Wendy is also a dog blogger. She shares her adventures at Aspiring Service Dog Chronicles.  Check it out; she’s got some great stuff out there from the view of a Breeder/Caretaker.

Ok, now check your glucose levels before scrolling down, folk.  Sweet puppy photos coming up.

Into the puppy limo with y’all for a ride to the playground.

A refreshment break at the watering hole while Clifford looks on.

More, please?
Working those big brown eyes.

Lovin’ that crinkly nose.

And back in the puppy limo to head off for their health check.

I owe a debt of gratitude to Wendy and Dave for allowing us to share their puppy turn-in morning with them. Thanks so much, you two. Not just for making our week a memorable one, but for taking on the Breeder/Caretaker role as well. You guys are amazing.  

CCI’s Santa Rosa campus is a gorgeous affair. If you find yourself in the area, they do give tours to the public during the week. We were able to snag the special Puppy Raiser tour and talked with a few of the professional trainers on the work they do with the pups we turn in for advanced training.

And to see stuff like this.

Yep, that’s the campus cat turning on a light switch. That’s how good these trainers are. Ponder that one for a minute. I’ve been trying to get Bodine to sit for a treat. Without biting my finger. And it’s not going well.

We come across a map of the US just about filled with colorful pushpins. Ooh what’s this? I ask.  Well, it represents the dogs that are placed with someone. Each color represents one of the four types of assistance dogs that CCI trains (Service Dog, Skilled Companion Dog, Facility Dog, Hearing Dog).  I snagged a close up shot of the Ohio/Pennsylvania area. The lovely Inga has a pushpin in there as a Skilled Companion Dog; the thought gives us a warm and fuzzy feeling of pride and awe. We helped make that pushpin, I think. And while it doesn’t sound weird at all to me, I decide it best to keep it within my inside voice.

And the ridiculously photogenic Micron has a place in Santa Rosa, too. Here he is, in all his furry splendor, on the wall in the great room. Now this was a personal thrill to come across, I gotta say.

So here we are, on Day Two of the Great California Adventure and I’ve knocked off Number Nine on the Bucket List. More California stuff coming up in the upcoming posts.

MONDAY DOG SIGHTINGS: 8 adorable puppies and gobs of CCI dogs.

Wordless Wednesday: How do you spell Alberkerkee?

How many air holes do you think this needs?, asks Yaxley.

What’s that you say, big guy? says Bodine.  “You want some more air holes?  I believe I can help you out on that.”

 

Hello Mudder

Hi Mom:
I juz wan let you no that I think im gonna like it here at camp Wagner.  There are lotz of cool things to smell an taste.  The other kidz here r pretty cool too.  There is this 1 gurl named Rosie that sort of looks like me but she has red hair.  There is another gurl that I think is chineez cuz they said she was a chow.

Your boy,

Micron

Aww, Micron’s first letter from camp. We just sent him off to Camp Wagner for a week of adventure. It’s not like the old days when moms were at the mailbox awaiting a hastily scrawled message to arrive, but instead now our young ones send warm thoughts back home across the WIFI airwaves.  Faster, cleaner and, frankly, easier to on the eyes to read.

And that the dog can text me without the advantage of opposable thumbs is pretty kinky cool too. I’ll just pause here while you work on the mental image.

Ok, so the camp director knows me well enough to recognize I’m just a rotor short of being a helicopter parent. It could be that I’m a bit overprotective of my charges. Or perhaps I’m a little worried that Micron will be an over excited seventy-five pound package of impending disaster. A big yellow tsunami roiling across all things valuable.

At that Camp Wagner has an inground swimming pool has my mom hormones in full alert. Not a bounty of shorelines here in landlocked Ohio, so Micron doesn’t have any experience with bodies of water larger than the bathtub. I ask the camp director to keep an eye out, because if fuzzhead goes into the pool, he may not have the presence of mind to know how to get back out.

But Micron’s letter to his mama brought some peace of mind.
[sigh] All is well.
Ruh roh, not so fast there. This showed up next.
Hi Mom:
Ooops my paw hit the rong button cuz I waznt done yet.  I waned 2 also let you no that I went swimmin within the first fu minuts of bein here.  I didn meen 2 cuz I thot I wuz steppin on a blue rug or sumpin, but ya no wat? There wuz a swimming hole under neeth.  The camp director, mr wagner got me out reel quik tho.  I don think I gonna do that agin.
Well, you guys have a good trip and also happee birf day Mom.
Your boy
Micron
Well, that little trip to the world of Warm & Fuzzy Land didn’t last long. Yeah, the goober dog tried to walk across the swimming pool cover. Within the first five minutes. Right. Sounds like my dog.

Now things feel normal and that, my friends, is the true peace of mind.

You know, it’s not often that I don’t have a four legged companion at my side. Most days two dogs, or even three, are riding off to another adventure in the backseat of my car. But earlier this month the Husband and I decided to take a week off to do some traveling.

And this time, we couldn’t take the dogs with us.

Before we catch our flight out to the fine state of California, I’ve got to find caregivers for everything in this house with an alimentary tract.

So the mighty Micron is off to West Chester to stay with a good friend. Yaxley will be enjoying his week with another CCI puppy raiser.  Jager requires a little extra care with his tendency towards freakiness, so is being taken in by a friend and professional pet sitter. Whew, that takes care of the dogs. Lucky for me the pet sitter will also stop by to feed the cats and Bob the Fish.

All are in good hands and comfy in home environments. I know we don’t need to give the pets’ welfare a second thought. But[sniffle] how am I going to go an entire week without their wet nosed company? It’s gonna be a weird few days.

There’s a lot of stuff in the middle that keeps Ohio pretty far away from California, so Saturday was simply lost to the inglorious nature of air travel.

Dog sightings on Saturday: 0

Saturday was just a day to endure so we could make it to Sunday when we would find ourselves in lovely Santa Rosa.  What do you want to do today?, asks the Husband on Sunday morning.  Ah, I say, I want to see stuff we don’t see in Ohio. We’re all supplied up with a map, a decent rental car, satellite radio, a full tank of $5 petrol, my fancy camera and dang I left my sunglasses back home. ‘Salright, we hit the road to see what treasures the goldmine state has to offer.

And . . . we are not off to a good start.

What the heck, coastal living people?  A NO DOGS sign?  On our way to the Sonoma State Beach, I made a whimsical decision to stop at a roadside flea market.  On the Good Idea scale, this knee jerk choice rates a three. We muck through a quarter mile of mud and return to the car with the scent of cheap sun-warmed plastic still stuck in our nostrils. And of course, no dog sightings.

Ok, movin’ on. Let’s hit the coast to see what’s happening there. We’re in sunny California so surely we’ll come across something to wondersmack our day.  Blue skies and puffy clouds abound above us. A trip to the Pacific is now topping the list.  Let’s catch some sunshine at Sonoma’s Goat Rock.

Hold your horses there, pardner. Not so fast. 

This is not a black & white photo, folks.

Is that fog? I ask, or did we just drive into a cloud?  Huh. Well, will you look at that? Honey, I say in my best Captain Obvious voice, this sure ain’t like Myrtle Beach.
 

But this one is.  Black & white, that is.

But still.  This is some fabulous scenery and I’m loving it. The weather is on the cool side, so I’ve opted for my best jeans to keep warm. A good idea, that.  Until I started with the kneeling down to take photos.  Speaking of Myrtle Beach, it’s been my experience that once salt water touches anything cotton, it doesn’t dry. Ever. Instead it just wicks into a larger area of uncomfortableness until you feel like your clothes have joined DNA with your skin. And just because I’m me, a wave comes from behind and socks me good.  Wet, cold and sandy up to the knees, I am.

Not black & white, but I geeked around with the contrast.

 
But I plod on.  Because there’s wonders here to discover.

Ok, this one is black & white, with a blue filter.

 

Not black & white, but taken at an angle to be all artsy and everything

Ugh. Nature why you so weird?

Ah, but things get even better. We got us a dog sighting!  Three dogs romping along another area of the beach.  Just one bit of a problem.  I pretty much goobered up my shoes in that last surfside attack of nature and there’s no getting them back on anytime soon.  My poor feet are still winterized and are delicate little size sevens. I won’t be sporting leathery hobbit feet until mid-summer or so.

I would have to cross this rocky nightmare to get to the beach. 

Barefoot.

You’re pretty savvy, right?  You noticed the photo is taken from the beach side?  Yeah, it wasn’t pretty, but I scaled over those babies. Just let loose a couple of eeps of momentarily painful missteps.

And just so I could ruffle the fur on someone else’s fishy smelling dogs.  Hi! Are your dogs friendly? Would you mind if I petted them? After my klutzy performance on the rocks, the hapless dog owner is giving me just one degree short of the hairy eyeball.  Yeah, ok sure, he says. He gives me a quick once over, probably figuring he could easily take me down if I get any weirder about his dogs.

I try to contain my happiness and act like a normal person as a happy pair bounce up to me for a greeting.  Hi, Hi, Hi! they say in dog talk. Hi right back atcha! says me, aren’t you a couple of pretty fellas?

Then they shake. Oh no, not shake paws. The other shake. Massive seawater removal by doing the doggie twist. Gah!, I cry, protecting the camera with my body. Ah, lovely. Now we all smell like dead seafood, boys.

But really, you ask, once you stopped whining about every little thing, was it worth it?

Oh yeah.  It was worth it.

Dog sightings on Sunday:  2 friendly, but stinky dogs. 1 non-friendly dog, but likely stinky.

Next blog post:  We’re back in Santa Rosa for dog sightings of the puppy kind.

Licker license

Hi there, I’m Donna from pet therapy. Do you like dogs? (patting the bed to allow Micron to put his front paws up) Yeah? Well, this handsome fella is Micron, who . . . AUGH! Micron! Drop it!  

It’s Wednesday evening and Micron and I are at the Dayton VA Medical Center. We’re on a test run with our pet therapy classmates to observe how our dogs react to folk in a medical environment.
 
And I watch with horror as my goober dog goes snout deep into a size 11 shoe sitting on the bed (snuffle snuffle) only to then grab it with his pearly whites. Lookit y’all. I gotcher sneaker!  His tail wagging heartily the whole time.

Micron’s just hard-wired to be weird with sneakers

Oh, Micron.

Over the past few weeks of our pet therapy classes, we’ve been absorbing a lot of info. Stuff we need to know to be a certified Pet Therapy Team. Recognizing calming signals and stress in our dogs, as a for instance.  

On this week’s visit to the VA, this may be the first time our dogs will experience this particular package of sensory load that is the medical environment. Will any of the unfamiliar sights, smells, sounds and that slick vinyl flooring bring pause to our dogs in training?

I understand that my dog is my first priority.  We’ve been told this by the trainers and of course I have total buy in.  At the first sign of overload, I am prepared to make a graceful exit and remove my beloved Micron from the situation.

In hindsight, it’s too bad Micron wasn’t told the same thing. Hey Micron, what about signs of stress in me, dude?

Oh, he’s doing fine. Wheelchairs, moving beds, beeping noises go past his notice without a glancing thought.  All he wants is to greet people and be petted.  Right after he smells you real good, that is.

His new friend, Harley the chocolate lab, is in front of us greeting a fellow. Micron is nearly quivering with anticipation (my turn-my turn-my turn-my turn).  Ok, Micron, I say, Let’s go, giving him permission to approach for a greeting.  Good grief.  He’s all hey hey my name’s Micron I’m a dog are you a dog no well let me smell you first yep you’re a person i like your shoes can i lick your hand do you have something in your other hand no ok can i lick it anyway ooh you had meatloaf for dinner didn’t you I like chickens but the food lady doesn’t can I hold your sock in my mouth for a minute.  And so it goes.

Yeah, I say, my dog can’t hold his licker. Ha Ha. heh. Sorry, we’ll just move along now. And so I shorten the leash and take the chowder head to look for the next dog appreciator.

Speaking of calming signals

I gotta say, I was really hoping he would have done just a little better on this trip. Micron’s visited family at a couple of different assisted living centers and has always done us proud.  On those visits, he’s able to bring up some past service dog training to walk in a perfect heel along a wheelchair.  Calm and gentle, he’s been a welcome sight.

So what had him so wound up last Wednesday at the VA? You know what? It was all on me. Three days into the workweek, I hit a level of stress that would lead a lesser woman to drink straight from the bottle. Then just starting into my sixty mile drive to get to the VA, I was delayed in a traffic jam. It’s a mandatory class tonight, I lamented to Micron, we really gotta show up.  All the things I had planned to prepare for the evening’s class (brush the dog, read today’s comic page, eat something) was lost to time. Finally pulling into the parking lot, I was on edge. Jittery.

Sensing all this, but not with full understanding, Micron went on Yellow Alert.  Something’s going down at this new place, thinks he,  Oh hey look! My friends are here!  Hey, Harley! Sup, dawg?

And I can mark this point in time as when his brains cells went on a coffee break.  Back in fifteen!, say the neurons.  Nothing to do now, but break out a couple of dog cookies to get his focus back. I wave the biscuit goodness past his nostrils aaaaand He’s Back!  There you are,big guy, I say, getting some eye contact, I missed you.

We’ll get better at this pet therapy thing, you know. When I say We, I really mean Me. Micron is, well, Micron.  I know that and there’s nobody more familiar with his eccentricities than I.  It’s my job to anticipate his misbehavior to keep the dog slobber off people’s tennies.  So, I’ll get better at this thing.

Micron and Harley take a well earned break

We’re nearly finished with the classes now.  One more week, then [gulp] the Certification Test.  I’m actually looking forward to the test, because I’m sick that way. But I think we’ll do just fine.

And by We, I mean Micron. Micron will do fine. I’m off now to practice deep breathing.

Tale of two chickens

I don’t really like chickens.  We had different genres of walking poultry meat about the farm when I was a tender youth.  The farm goose was a particular jerk as these fellas are wont to be. But the worst was the chicken coop. The guano room of doom.

All the hens were white and were perfect doppelgangers of each other. Some rather nastier in spirit than their sisters, however. It was a crap shoot, so to speak, to collect eggs.  Reach under a plump hen for an egg and you may come back with skin and delicate hand bones intact. But the next hen could be the one that goes all medieval about your arm. You just never knew.

So I really don’t like chickens. They’re icky and smelly and mean. I can’t even abide the taste of these things. I do apologize to anyone who has a meaningful relationship with chickens. I mean no offense. I don’t want to be all up in your business, but you might be rethinking your friend base. 

So when I redecorated the kitchen, I adopted a rooster theme. What deep recesses of my brain brought me to surround myself with chicken based artsy fartsy stock?  I can’t explain it.

But I chicken theme it, I did.

 

So when the grocery had rooster dish towels on clearance last week, I bought a couple to go with my Hannibel Lector inspired decor.

Ah, nice.

The mighty Micron is an intuitive dog.  He reads people and their moods to a level that is sometimes heart-warming and other times spooky.

He knows about the chickens.

To show his unconditional love, he brought me one of the rooster dish towels.

That’s one down!, he says, wagging his plume tail.

 Yep, that dog’s got my back.