Category Archives: Jager

Canine chiclets need love too

Posted on February 21, 2012 by Donna Black-Sword

Grooming day

“Yaxley’s teeth are so white!” a friend observes as the yellow dog stretches out a big horsefly-catching yawn. Well, they should be, I say. He just got them a few months ago.

And we all know that February is National Pet Dental Health Month, don’t we? Yep, for real and everything. An entire month dedicated to the chiclets of our four legged friends. Complete with a bonus day cuz this is a leap year.

To raise awareness of this National holiday, the boys have offered a photo demo in canine dental care. Of course, a Google search will net you a collection of excellent choices designed for educational purposes. A great place to start is at the AVMA‘s website. Some may find the video helpful in seeing exactly how you get a toothbrush into a dog’s maw in a manner that may actually do some good. The veterinarian patiently explains how to introduce your pet to the dental paste and toothbrush over a few days before doing the deed.

Solid advice, I think, for the skeptical pets of the world. I, however, have lab/golden crosses. I have never (Never!, I say) seen these fellas reject anything that went into their mouth. The trick is, and has always been, getting said object back out of those murky depths. So, I merely slap some poultry flavored toothpaste on the brush and they all line up. Introductory period? I think nae.

So with all these websites out there on the grid that offer pet dental care tips and tricks, what could I possibly have to offer you? Well, fasten your seatbelts, people, and prepare for a wild ride.

Because just for you, I offer pet dental care photos . . . taken with a Lomo Fisheye camera!

Wait! Don’t go! I know, I know. There’s no way anyone can enjoy this as much as I did, but hang with me for just another couple of minutes here.

For all you normal, healthy-minded folk, I must explain. The Lomo is a funky little plastic camera gadget that spits out images in that gritty genre of artistic expression. Proportional distortions, off colors, totally unreliable exposure, and light leaks — it’s a geek’s dream of a camera. It even needs film! Remember dropping your film off at the drugstore and actually waiting to see your photos? One-hour processing seems like an unbearable eternity to see what your camera had wrought. This is geekery topped off with nostalgia.

I love the Lomo.

So anyway, here’s Jager, Micron and Yaxley watching me load the poultry flavored pasted onto their personal toothbrushes. How do I know it actually tastes like a domesticated bird? I guess I don’t really care what the flavor is, so long as I don’t have to work out a six day introductory period with the dogs. It could be cat snicker flavored for all I know. Theoretically speaking and all.

This is our downstairs half bathroom and yes, it is indeed that small. Like a water closet, except we don’t say it with a British accent. We had to custom order that dollhouse sized sink at the last remodel of our 60 year old abode. (My mantra – the house has charm, the house has charm . . . ).

Don’t accept this next shot as proper dental cleaning by any means. I only have two hands and one is holding the Lomo. To pull up Yaxley’s lips to get to his pearly chiclets, I would need another hand. Or Jedi skills.

Yeah, same here with Micron. Not a real demo of technique. But it does show a sense of camaraderie with Yaxley’s valiant attempt to take one for the team. The plastic lens cap hanging in the lower left corner is a special plus for this shot.

Please sir, may we have some more? they ask.

Dental care is only one part of the trifecta of grooming fun. We got your nail clipping and coat care, as well. But we’ll just have to wait until National Make a Self-Aware Tribble with your Dog’s Fur Day to cover the rest of this adventure.

Don’t get me wet or feed me after midnight.

Today’s “Would You Rather” challenge: Would you rather have a third hand or Jedi skills?

My vote is for the Jedi skills. The Force is all around us and, well, the challenge doesn’t make clear exactly where that third hand will go, now does it?

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Fortunate one

Posted on February 5, 2012 by Donna Black-Sword

I just want to say to y’all that I prepare a family meal most nights of the week. All food groups included, mind you (note: Reisling is a fruit. As is a good Merlot.). This superwomen feat is accomplished after a full day in the office and an hour’s drive staring down I-75 to get my tired butt home. This needs to be said, not in a manner of womanly bragging, but merely because I crave a written record of it for posterity’s sake.

And don’t we all know that avoiding take-out cuisine is, of course, an exercise in significant hard-earned-dollar saving, as well as an opportunity to chow down on healthier noshables? But there’s another deep seated reason for me. Cuing my favorite psychology major son to study this one . . .

I find something rather therapeutic about chopping things into little bits. A cringe worthy statement when taken out of context, I know. Ah, but perhaps not as creepy as it need be. Consider this; a mindless task requiring no deeper thought than positioning that carrot (or onion or potato) in a safe enough manner so I don’t chop off a fingertip. It’s a simple pleasure going all Rachael Ray with my favorite chef knife to make teensy diced morsels for that turkey pot pie or my favorite potato soup.

The day’s memories of contrary budgets, computer problems and personality clashes fade into a misty vapor as I create itsy cubes of food. Ah, for the first time today, everything behaves exactly as it should. Right there at my fingertips. I am in control of my universe.

Yeah, this is how I process stress.

So anyway, this past week was especially ego defeating. By Friday, things got to be even too much for the sturdiest of my chef knives. So, I sigh heavily and accept my fate. It’s gonna be a take-out night.

I’m feeling a tennis ball in my destiny.

Let’s get Chinese, I say. The Husband agrees, and not because I have expert knife skills, but because he recognizes the heavy sigh I just let out. Always best to keep Momma happy, he knows, to maintain a harmonious household.

And somehow our Chinese take-out Meal for Two results in four fortune cookies. Did I really order that much? Huh, apparently so. Stress eating, the second of my fortes. Been practicing for years, so I’m actually pretty darn good at it.

Let’s check your fortune, Micron!, I say, snapping the cookie doppelganger in half. No you don’t get the cookie, sorry dude. This is for entertainment purposes only. To be clear, my personal entertainment, but anyone can jump on the Friday Night Fun Train if they want. Ahem, here goes:

Destiny has a good mouth feel, sez Micron

“Go above and beyond you duty. You will benefit from it.”

Misspelling notwithstanding, this is a match for Micron, I think. This dog still has a destiny and I stand by that belief. There’s too much Micron happening here and he must be shared with others. Somewhere out there, he is needed desperately. And we’re working hard on that, so check in with us later this month for more news.

Alrighty then, next up is Yaxley’s profundity cookie.

“Welcome each day as a fresh new beginning.”

Is that true dog attitude or what? Dogs don’t hang onto all that crap that happened yesterday, do they? This morning we’re gonna go outside and discover what’s out there to sniff. Then we’ll eat a bowl of kibble that will feel so good in the belly that a nap is required. I can’t speak for anyone else’s dogs, but mine don’t need therapists to help with personal issues they can’t let go of. They are the therapists. If we do come back in another life, I want the each-day-is-a-new-one canine view to get me through the next life.

The perfect nap, sez Yaxley, now, bring on what’s next.

Ok, that’s getting a little deep. Time for comic relief, which in our house, is the Jagerhund. So, Jag, what’s up for you?

“To attain enlightenment is to be aware of your own Buddha.”

I’m reminded of the immature, but always spit-take funny, “in bed” ending for fortune cookie readings. No, I know that doesn’t fit well here. I have another ending for Jager: “belly.”

You know, Food Lady, sez Jager, you could
cut back on the kibble yourself.

Time to cut back on the kibble, Jager, I say. You look like a snausage on four toothpicks. He just smiles and wags his tail at me, though. With three dogs in the house, his motto is any attention is good attention. Rub my Buddha belly for luck, he says.

Uh oh, one cookie left. For the boss or me? Well, he did go out and get the stuff, so I’m feeling generous and forfeit. This one’s yours, I tell the Husband. Let’s see what the fortune cookie has in store for you. I crack the thing open and . . .

So people, this is where opposites attract. You may not have noticed, but I can run a little on the cynical side of the tracks. But the Husband? He is persistently optimistic, darn him.

Yeah so, I crack the thing open and . . . the cookie is empty. No fortune inside. None at all. Inside my head, I thinking, holy cow I hope he’s careful on the drive to work tomorrow. But him, oh no. No dark thoughts swirling around in his happy noggin. Get this, “That’s cool,” he says, “I can write my own fortune.” Can you believe that?! Where do these kind of people come from anyway?

Ok, ok, I got it. Here’s my plan for next week.

Go outside my comfort level. It’s the only way to grow personally.
Start each day with a fresh frame of mind. Leave my problems on the doorstep.
Lose weight.

and of course . . .

Make my own fortune

I don’t usually turn to take-out profundities to make a life plan, but really, this is a good as anything else I’ve come across lately.

And maybe this can be the week the Husband won’t have to walk into the kitchen to tell me, Honey, put down the chef knife. That’s enough carrots. And anyway, I thought were you making chili tonight?

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Wordless Wednesday: Caption this photo

Posted on December 28, 2011 by Donna Black-Sword

This Micron when he was a tiny fellow. So new, so pure. Like a fluffy cotton-ball with needle sharp puppy teeth. (Remember Mogwai rules? Don’t get ’em wet, no bright light and don’t feed after midnight. Or your adorable Gizmo critter turns into a gremlin.)

And on the right is Jager. Who continues in his role as a professional victim.

I had titled this photo “Land Shark.” But what other captions can we come up with here? Drop a comment should something come to mind.

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Huntin’ season for trees

Posted on December 18, 2011 by Donna Black-Sword

Ma! I like this one!

In the days when the Husband and I were oh so very new with this parenting gig, we thought it paramount to put our personal spin on the family Christmas traditions. You know, the warm and fuzzy memories of his suburban childhood mixed gently with my rustic farm livin’ upbringing. (Alternatively called “You’re Not Doing That Right.”) Then we would offer up these experiences for the kid’s memories. And someday when he has his own family, he will carry these traditions with him and tell his kids, when I was little, my rents . . .

It seemed like a wonderful idea, we thought.

So the first Christmas after the kid became self-aware, we donned him in his winter gear and rumbled off in the Ford pick-up for the local Christmas tree farm. Let’s go cut down our own tree! we exclaim, we’re gonna make you some memories today, son.

We park the truck and drag toddler boy out for his first ever tree hunt. Dang, we say, pulling on our gloves and stamping our feet, it’s flippin’ cold out here.

Fuzz-lined gloves are poised above our eyes in an attempt to see clearly out into the fields of evergreen. We discover our conifer of choice, the soft-needled white pine, is . . . where? Holy cow, really? Well, that’s gonna be a hike. Maybe we should have packed a lunch.

But no matter, we’re actually in pretty good shape to get out there. Got our walking shoes on and dressed warmly enough. We’ve got time and the attitude to do this.

We had an affectionate nickname for the kid at this phase in his young life. When my cuddle bunny melted into a hungry, thirsty, and tired toddler, he was referred to as Bio-Boy. And two-thirds of the way out to the north forty we found ourselves challenged with the insistent biological needs of a toddler. (Where’s the diaper bag? Ah, back in the truck. greeaat . . .) I scoop up my little adorable bio bundle and we trod on with a renewed sense of purpose to find the Perfect Tree for this year’s Christmas memories.

Husband says, how ’bout this one? I dunno, the needles are a little yellow on the ends. This one? Don’t you think the trunk is too crooked? He grips the handle of the hacksaw perhaps a wee too tight. Right. How’s this one look to you? Are you kidding? Look at that big bare spot! Alrighty. This one? It’s not, well, piney enough.

Ok, look, says the Husband. You know what? I believe you. The Perfect Tree is out there. But, as luck would have it, it’s not actually at this particular tree farm. Please just pick a tree so I can hack the thing down and drag it back over the twenty acres we just walked.

Oh, but I can’t! I can’t choose from any of these inferior coniferous twig beings. I’m not often accused of having high standards, but these pines are just not the stuff of memory making. Sorry, my brave knights, I have failed you. And with hanging heads and lowered standards, we tromp back on numbing feet to the farm entrance. You know, I sigh with resignation, that tree lot at the grocery might have something nice.

We walk past the barn when we notice, well, there’s a barn. Has this been here the whole time? Huh. And through the open barn doors (snicker, sorry), there appears before us a gallery of evergreen, freshly cut and hanging in neat rows. Firs, scotch pine, white pines – all green and straight and full and all piney smelling. They’re perfect, the whole lot of them! I walk in to hug a beautiful tree, exclaiming too loudly, I love it! Toss that hacksaw aside, we’ve found our destiny tree!

I know what you’re thinking. You saw that photo of the kid at the top, didn’t you? In spite of my seasonal zealousness, the kid was way too young to really retain any memories of this ill-fated tree hunt of his toddler youth. And that’s for the best, I think, as the parental dialog was getting a little salty out there on the tundra.

But now, my favorite kid has outgrown me and is off to college. And the Husband and I are left behind to carry on the holiday traditions we started as a young family. With a different flavor these days, though. We no longer have the Ford S-10; we now rumble to the tree farm in extended cab GMC. And instead of the kid, we take a dog.

Not that we replaced the kid with a dog. It’s important to keep that clear, he keeps reminding me.

Gotcher holiday spirit right here, Micron says.

Yax, my love, I exclaim, put on your working cape and let’s go make us some Christmas memories!

The mighty Micron was our furry and festive tree hunter last Christmas (photo, right). Before we left for the tree farm, he pulled Yaxley aside to give him some pointers on how to get the job done.

Kid, he says, Pick the first one you see.

Great. Thanks a lot, Micron. Now, please turn off the TV and bring up the box of decorations from the basement, will you?

So it’s a gorgeous, sunny December afternoon. Perfect weather for tree shopping. And so we rumble off to the tree lot with Yaxley all jazzed and ready to hunt him some evergreen.

Sniff, snuffle, says Yaxley, here it is! Got one!

My job here is done.

Yaxley, this is indeed a lovely choice, I say, but since the tree is laying right here at the entrance, it probably already belongs to someone else. Let’s dig a little deeper into the lot, shall we?

Luck is ours and we find a beautiful white pine without any fuss or muss. I send the Husband to the other side to untie the thing from the post. Which end do you want, he asks. Which end do I want for what? You mean to carry? Don’t they have people for that? Ugh, I get The Look. Alright, lemme have the top part. It looks lighter than that big thing on the other end. You mean the trunk? Yeah, that.

I’m watching it just like you said, Food Lady.
What’s it supposed to be doing?

Yup, we untied it ourselves.

Next step is dragging this piney carcass into the house and the joyful joint effort of putting the thing in the tree stand, which is not as bad as wallpapering a room together.

Last Christmas Yaxley was a newborn pup, so we’re sensitive to these new experiences. While he’s trying to wrap his yellow noggin around the phenomena of an outdoor smelling thing planted into a big water bowl, Micron pulls him aside.

This is funny, Micron says. Watch the Food Lady when I drink from the big water bowl. heh heh. Now you try it. See, she sounds just like the red squeaky ball, doesn’t she?

And then you put lights on it?

And so continues our holiday traditions.

This will be our fourth Christmas with a CCI puppy in our home. In 2008, we celebrated the season with the lovely Inga. This gorgeous pup was five months old on her first Christmas.

Inga shares her wish list with Santa, while the jolly elf wishes she’d move that front paw from his, um, chestnuts.

We brought home the mighty Micron the week before Thanksgiving in 2009. A ridiculously adorable puppy that looks like he smells like sugar cookies. As is turns out, it’s actually a scent reminiscent of mushroom soup, but that didn’t dampen the warm welcome into our home.

All this puppy goodness was too much to keep under the radar, though. The mighty Micron has graced the Canine Companions for Independence holiday cards two years in a row. And his handsome puppy mug has been included in the 2011 and 2012 CCI Calendars.

Just the way timing worked out, we enjoyed a second Christmas season with Micron in 2010.

And he continues to be the life of the party.

I didn’t bother to send this next photo in to CCI.

And now that this cuddlebug is a CCI college drop-out, we find ourselves blessed to have yet another Christmas with him. Just proof that we must’ve done something good to get this kind of karma happening for us.

More on that later. But now, I need to check on the tree. I think the cat just discovered it.