Do we want to know what the dogs did to earn those beads? Right, probably not.
But knowing the cat, he’ll rat them out.
Or not.
Guess I don’t know the cat like I thought.
Actually, we borrowed the beads from college boy’s bedroom. And how did he come about owning these? That story, my friends, is indeed one I don’t need to know.
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| 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.
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| 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?
Same intelligent locked-on-you gaze and those little adorable eyebrows. Ears soft as velvet. And that same serious mouth as designed by the Wallace & Gromit cartoonists.
But a whole year older now. February 19 marks the milestone event of bringing a third dog into my home (see Newest Golden Child ). How many dogs can I have and still be married? Today, the answer to this is the same as last February. That would be three.
We welcomed this cotton ball called Yaxley into our family to train and socialize for the next eighteen months for Canine Companions for Independence. The Mighty Micron was still a pup in training last February, so we did overlap two CCI pups for the next three months until Micron’s matriculation into Advanced Training in May. A feat of bravery we proved can indeed be done, but did require some serious attention and help from others. My friend, and sometimes cohort, Mary Ann was invaluable during this time. She is one of the unsung CCI volunteers – supportive, knowledgeable and blessedly always there when you need her. She’s been the wind beneath the angel wings of seven CCI puppies.
So did I learn anything new with pup #3 over this last year? Sure, I did. There’s always new enlightenment to be discovered with these yellow fuzzies. Lessee, I already knew about there was no such thing as a quick grocery trip with a CCI pup. And to keep two sticky lint rollers in my purse (one for me and the other share). And that mud is my mortal enemy.
They say after four dogs in your house, it’s all the same. You can keep adding from there because it just won’t make a difference after that. But with three, I still had some shred of value system for cleanliness. The wood stairwell seemed to be growing a coat of its own. The Swiffer WetJet was threatening to defect during the rainy season. I started to get paranoid about potluck events and brought fur-free goodies fresh from the grocery (“I bought it myself!”) instead of home-cooked fare.
And how does dog hair get to the top of the door frames anyway?
So over the last year, I learned coping skills. And to tell friends and family to give me at least a thirty minutes heads up before they come over. I learned a single dog hair in the meatloaf ain’t gonna kill ya. And using a fabric softener and dryer sheet combo system, it is a teensy bit more effective in getting yellow fur to release its tenacious hold on my favorite black sweater.
And I learned that I absolutely love sharing my life with these wonderful critters. I’ll never be renowned for my housekeeping skills and that’s just fine with me. My world is filled, maybe even overflowing, with the warm companionship you can only get from a dog’s heart. So if I have to pluck yet another hair from my mug o’joe tomorrow morning, I think I’ll just continue to consider myself one lucky chick.
Unless it turns out to be a cat hair. That’s different.
When you spend your days with dogs, you may start to be aware of certain trends in behavior. We already know that Yaxley comes to work to relax after a long evening of tormenting the snot out of Jager. But we also see that some weather, particularly barometric pressure changes, makes him rather sleepy. Which, by the power of suggestion, makes us all feel sleepy. Yax naps the workday away, I chug the caffeine.
Here’s Yax curled up on his bed at the office in an awkward love cuddle with a favorite toy. He’s in a tight ball with his tail by his nose. Like a big yellow snoring fox with a nasal obstruction.
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.
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| 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:
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| 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.
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| 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.”
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| 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.
and of course . . .
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?
Go. Do. Be Dog. 