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Category Archives: Yaxley

Unicorns, dog frogs and the odd duck

Posted on January 22, 2012 by Donna Black-Sword
Dog Frog and his noshable  friends

Introversion ain’t all it’s cracked up to be

Sometimes it’s tough living life as an introvert in a world that seems to be run by extroverts. You got all these Type A people out there on the front of the stage running the show, while all us quiet, unassuming folk are back in the wings holding things together. Go on out there, we say, we got your back, dude.

According to the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, you can sum up these personality diffs this way:

  • Extraverts are action oriented, while introverts are thought oriented.
  • Extraverts seek breadth of knowledge and influence, while introverts seek depth of knowledge and influence.
  • Extraverts often prefer more frequent interaction, while introverts prefer more substantial interaction.
  • Extraverts recharge and get their energy from spending time with people, while introverts recharge and get their energy from spending time alone

As a highly functioning introvert, I’m pretty much in agreement with all this. I’m ok with the task of being the thinker behind the doer. And while I absolutely can do high energy adventures like give a speech or go to a party, it’s just that a nap afterwards would be quite nice.

I’m somewhat familiar with the Myers-Briggs personality test thingy, having gone through it a couple of times or so in the interest of career development. And while the results provide some comfort to know that my core personality doesn’t change, it remains unsettling to find that I fall into an “exclusive personality category which contains only one percent of the population.”  Huh, one percent. I try to think positive as I ponder on this nugget of info.

So, I’m unique, y’all! Creative, clever and sensitive! As rare as a unicorn in a world of plow horses!  No, no of course I know what this means. If you should find your personality style anywhere less than even 10% of the general public, well, it means people look upon you as a bit of an odd duck.

And so thanks so much, Myers-Briggs, for confirming that with your nifty little test.  Like the high school experience wasn’t enough to prove it.

Socializing the yellow dog

So, you might think taking Yaxley out for socializing would present a challenge for me. In a world where I prefer to go about my business within an imaginary cloak of invisibility, that taking a dog would knock me off my groove. It’s true, walking Yaxley through “no pets allowed” facilities negates the invisibility cloak. You’re gonna get noticed.

It can be turned into a game, of sorts.  I flash a friendly smile at anyone we encounter who makes eye contact. The sport of it is to tally up the reciprocated smiles against any askew skunk eyed glares. The smiling faces always win (there’s bonus points if you get an awww).  Skunk eyes can go on their way and live to stink up someone else’s day, I say. But only because I’m weird.

After reading fellow dog blogger Something Wagging This Way Comes‘  post titled  5 Ways Dog Save the World, I was reminded of our local farmer’s market and their no-pets-rule. A rule that I find a little off. The PNC 2nd Street Market is an effort in sustainability with organic food and handmade natural products. Come on folk, what’s more organic and natural than a dog?  But really, I do understand. Space to move about the indoor market is limited, not much room to maneuver a dog through there, organic or otherwise.

Animal Snackers Bakery

In the winter months though, the crowds have dispersed providing a shopping experience at a leisurely pace. Yax and I popped by the 2nd Street Market for some power socializing.  With his CCI logo cape, he is easily identified as a trainee. But he pulls himself off as a pro. Walking by my side, sitting when we stop. Shaking paws on command as he meets toddlers and adults. A fine ambassador for CCI, he is. Good dog, Yaxley.  

We made time to stop at the Animal Snackers Bakery, a shop run by the volunteer group Friends of the Humane Society.  These folk make healthy and tasty dog cookies as fundraising for the Humane Society of Greater Dayton. I stop by here every trip to the market to grab some baked goods to support the fine work these volunteers do. And because the dogs love it when I bring home some goodies for them. They nosh upon all of the varieties with eagerness, but it does seem their favorite is the peanut butter Dog Frogs.  How can I tell? I measure the drool strings.

Hey Food Lady, the cookies are glowing!
Kinda like a unicorn does!

The farm market experience gave us a couple of things to check off Yaxley’s New Experience List:

  • Tight traffic areas and how to position the yellow tail safely.
  • A really big guy in a clown suit making balloon animals.
  • Balloons popping before becoming said animals.
  • A dog cookie store and ignoring the treasures that are within easy reach.
Another successful outing with this masterful puppy. He went out there and wondersmacked the world while raising awareness of Canine Companions for Independence.

Ah, twas a good day. Now, please excuse me, won’t you?  I think I’ve earned myself a cat nap.  Wish me sweet unicorn dreams.

Chickie Chompers
The dogs aren’t the only food motivated ones here. Tasty fare from Baan Thai Noi

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Not purely altruistic

Posted on January 8, 2012 by Donna Black-Sword

Now don’t go off and get the wrong impression of me when I tell you this story. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m all stuck up or anything as I talk about an article from the New York Times. While, yes, I do have the New York Times drop an email update to me on a daily schedule, I really only scan the headlines. Put the Sunday issue of the Dayton Daily News and the New York Times side by side and watch me grab for the Dayton paper. Because DDN’s Sunday issue has the comic pages in color.

So I admit it’s not often that I actually open an article from the NYT email to absorb a story. I discovered that not only do the Times writers tend to use obscure words outside of the common tongue, they use several multi-syllable of the things in a row.

But here’s an exception.

Is Pure Altruism Possible? says the headline. Blog readers who have stuck with me over these past couple of years may recall my ramblings about teaching catechism to seventh graders (Rambam’s Ladder explains in further detail of these years of penance for me).  I have a foundational belief that I valiantly attempted to fit into the heads of these young people. Regardless of circumstance, each and every one of us has experienced blessings in our lives. And each and every one of us has a resource available to make a difference to someone else. This process of “giving back”, my young friends, is the very least we should be doing within our lives
 

Tell ya what, chick-a-roni, says Bodine.   
If you fill my food bowl, I’ll write your cards.  
How’s that for altruism, feline-style?

So this altruism headline in the Times intrigued me. I got as far as the byline and saw that this opinion piece was written by Judith Lichtenberg, a professor of philosophy at Georgetown University. Well, that should have been my first warning to stop right there before my brain exploded. Who did I think I was anyway?  Reading a NYT article written by a philosophy professor? But I bravely trudged onward hoping for a nugget of information that I could actually hold in my humble gray matter.

But, oh!  I got it!  Well, most of it.  Ok, ok, some of it.  Anyway, it’s full of some really great profundity and I’m finding it tough to summarize it here. I welcome all you curious folk to read the article in full here:  Is Pure Altruism Possible?  Grab that latte first, though. You’ll likely be there for a few minutes. For the truly courageous, read on through the reader comments, where you will find even more deep thinking as provided as critique by Dr. Lichtenberg’s fellow philosophers. My poor quivering brain sprung a leak after the first couple of those and I found myself reaching for that glass of Pinot Grigio.

The thought of pure altruism remains interesting to me as a volunteer puppy raiser for Canine Companions for Independence. Sure, my very hope is that this incredible pup I’m raising will become an assistance dog for someone. Which in turn would provide a level of independence, companionship and a sense of security to someone else who is looking for such things.

Pure altruism however? Well, no.

Inga taming a polar bear at the
Cincinnati Museum of Natural History

Why not? Oh, as if, people. Because I got me a puppy in my house, that’s why. I get nearly a year and a half of  happiness as only a fuzzy canine can give. Puppy breath and Frito scented feet in a cotton ball body, followed by months of having a constant companion. And adventures! Have you ever taken your dog to a museum? To the movies?  Well, I have and I gotta say, it’s a blast. The dog is a social bridge as well.  I meet amazing people I never would have without this dog at my side.

And we work hard, too, with the socialization and training. Some different doggie rules than the pet dogs have. And at the end of our time together, this dog we love so much, this dog who is not our dog, leaves our home and is entered into the advanced training program at CCI.

Every puppy raiser has their own reason for doing this stuff, for going through the hard work, the happiness and then the resulting heartache. Hey, I’m no philosopher, but here’s my thinking. During the short time we have these fuzzies in our lives, we fill them with our love. It’s not a conscious choice to be sure, it just kinda happens along the way. Then, with a kiss and a long hug, we send them off to share that love. So when they are placed with someone in the next part of their journey, well, they carry that very love inside them to give forward.

And indeed they do, so I’m told. Person after person, story after story, I hear. Pure altruism? No. But I don’t doubt for a nano-second that what I’m doing with these dogs is totally where I’m supposed to be.

During the holiday season, I joined up in a card exchange with other CCI folk.  Puppy raisers, graduates and others involved with the CCI program. Rules were simple, really. Just make sure you send a photo of a dog or two with your card.

Oh, it was wonderful picking up the mail every day to see what dogs were gracing the photo cards that day. I couldn’t even wait to get the cards in the house before opening them. Dogs in Santa hats, dogs in snow, dogs at the beach, dogs smiling. Then one day, opening the day’s postal treasures, I find myself standing in the driveway with tears in my eyes.  It’s a beautiful Christmas card from a CCI graduate, a young lady I’ve never met. Along with a photo of her and her blue-caped CCI dog, she’s left a handwritten note inside the card for each of the volunteer puppy raisers on her mailing list:

Wishing you a wonderful holiday season. Thank you so much for all the time, energy, patience & socializing you invest, in order to give someone else more independence & a greater quality of life. Loving & caring for a puppy you know you will have to give back is such a selfless gift.

Thank you for everything you do.

Dogs and dog cards.  It’s a blessed life, it is.
Now if Micron could just plant his blessed behind into a decent Sit.

So in answer to your question, Dr. Lichtenberg, is pure altruism possible?  You know, of course it is.  But I can’t stake claim of it here.

Because someone gave back to me.  And I’m feeling especially blessed today.

The photo we used for the CCI card exchange.
“Santa? Stop him, Micron! 
He’s goin’ for the dog cookies!”

Yaxley, Micron and Jager share some
Christmas spirit.

Aw, is Christmas over already?

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Going old school in the blogosphere

Posted on December 31, 2011 by Donna Black-Sword

As with many of my fellow bloggers, I suspect we spend more time in the blogosphere than is socially acceptable. You know, it’s not just our own stuff, but we’re out there blowing away an afternoon reading other blogs too.

I’m checking out my favorite pet bloggers to keep up with their goings on (see my blogroll on the right hand panel), before moving on to brain candy like the trivia sites. I simply adore useless trivial nonsense sites, which help feed my fantasy of winning Who Wants to be a Millionaire?.   And I know I could win; my poor over-forty noggin is just packed with the stuff that keeps me from having a fully intelligent conversation.  Did you know that Play-Doh was first developed as a wallpaper remover? Do you care? Right, and that’s why I don’t get invited to parties.

And with that, don’t even go out to a site like tywkiwdbi.  It will fill your brain. I warned you.

I’m just a humble thing, a niche blogger with a few dedicated readers (Hi Mom!), but while we’re fantasizing I’ll share with you the genius of the The Bloggess.  When I grow up, I want to be just like her.  Well, maybe a little less profane. I just don’t have the guts to use words like $hit in my online ramblings. See, I can’t do it. But darn it, I think that’s why I enjoy her stories like I do.

Yep, the great and powerful blogosphere is a great way to avoid that nasty housework. But being an old school kind of girl, I have a tactile need to hold my creation in my hands. I made this stuff my own self, after all.

So what to do, but have these words of mine printed into a book.

That’s right, says Micron, I’m kind of a 
big deal  around here.
Check out the expression on Yaxley’s face.

I turned to an online publishing company called Blurb. These guys provided software so I could upload all my blog content, text and photos, in a single step. What a time saver!  Then they had the gall to allow me to customize and resize all my photos. Full page, two-page spreads, and such.  Aargh, what a time eater!  Took me days of messing around with everything until I felt it good enough to print.

After waiting ever so patiently for the thing to show up on my doorstep (what’s taking so long? Didja have to chop down a tree to make the paper or something?), I rip open the shipping box to bask in the glow of being a (self) published authoress.  Ah, this is nice, I think. It’s so beautiful. 

I’m leafing through page by page (should I be wearing white cotton archival gloves?), trying to keep the pesky perfectionist node of my brain from mentally changing anything in the format.  Then I find it.  A typo.

$hit.

I don’t think glasses would make me look smarter

Well, that does it. Gotta reprint the thing, darn it. I fix the typo and upload the tome again. While I was at it, a little redesign of the cover as well, giving it a typewriter distressed look.

And I’m pretty happy with the results, I think.  For you curious readers, clicking Book Preview in the image below will take you to, well,  a preview. This shows about 40 or so pages of the book. Somehow, I actually filled this tome with 156 pages of text, photos and inflated ego.

If you do check it out, would you drop me a comment and let me know what you think?  Good, bad or ugly?  What would you change if this were your magnum opus?  

Raising a Super Dog: 2011
Another year in the…
By Donna Black-Sword

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Birthday wishes do come true

Posted on December 28, 2011 by Donna Black-Sword

The anniversary of my 29th birthday falls in the early springtime. It happens every year, it does. And I do love that time of year, right at the cusp between winter’s end and the renewal the more temperate weather brings to our days.  That wonderful season of windbreakers, yellow daffodils, and rain boots.  

And it’s an extra coolness when my special day actually falls on Easter Sunday, which puts a whole new glorious spin on the celebration. Sure, this has only happened once that I can recall, but it was a great theme party that year.

Of course I don’t have griping rights about sharing my birthday with a big holiday. Even something as powerful as the Easter celebration. Odds are, I have more chance of winning the lottery while being consumed by a tiger shark than getting another Easter Sunday birthday. So I can pretty much expect the same amount of gifts year after year. And by gifts, I’m referring to the stuff I buy for myself.

But I hear the folk who have their birthdays around the Christmas season don’t always get off as lucky. Christmas and birthday gifts sometimes get combined, lowering the meter on the happy scale into the yellow zone. Kids especially can feel a little slighted about their celebrations getting mixed in the holiday rush of family activities. You still get stuff and maybe even lots of it.  But what about your special day? You know, when your sister has to be nice to you and does the dishes when it’s really your turn.

One friend has solved this by celebrating his Half Birthday. A clever way to get your day of personal Me attention, I think. A full balloons and cake celebration in July instead of December. Smart fella.

So with all this in mind, we were sensitive to Yaxley and his first birthday that fell on December 22.  Yax was the fourth pup born in the aptly named Yuletide Y litter for Canine Companions for Independence.  These undecaplets met the world in the warm, caring hands of Susie Nash and her awesomely incredible team of whelping assistants.

Yaxley and his ten littermates were born to Keara, a full golden retriever. The dads were either Camden or Hickman, both Labradors, and paternal heritage was determined at eight weeks old by DNA testing (Yaxley is a Hickman pup).  Susie is renowned in that league of most excellent of breeder caretakers for CCI and once I began watching the videos of Keara’s Y litter, I just knew I wanted to raise one of these amazing pups.

Here’s the Y litter on their actual Birth Day, courtesy of Susie Nash. Eyes and ears closed, these fuzzies begin life with the comforting smell of Mom and warm milk in their tummies. About three minutes of newborn puppy goodness. 

So was that just precious or what? Well, check your glucose levels folk, cuz I got another batch of puppy sweetness coming up. Again, by the awesomeness that is Susie, we have a video of the Yuletide Y’s noshing upon their first Eukanuba meal.  This one is especially near to my puppy lovin’ heart as little Yaxley has finagled himself as the center of attention.

You can watch for the neon green collar for identification, but Susie does give him a personal call out. A couple of times or so. This is the Y pup’s first solid meal as they’re weaned from mother’s milk. Dunno about you guys, but this is seven minutes of time well spent for me.

Ah, but back to the topic at hand. What can we do to make Yaxley’s holiday birthday a special day?  The answer is rather easy, you know. Because he’s a pup, he’s a live-in-the-moment kind of critter. Hungry is in his doggie vocabulary. Along with Sit, Down, Bed and Hurry. But Happy Birthday is not. We give him an extra doggie cookie to mark the occasion. We’re nice to him the whole day and he doesn’t have to do the dishes that night, even though it was his turn. And as we’re tucking him in at bedtime, he says, Thanks! I had a good day.

It’s not hard to make a pup happy.

As human beans, however, we want a little more for the little yeller feller. It’s his First Birthday, after all. Let’s celebrate!

We were wonderfully surprised by a gift from Inga’s family. Inga, the first CCI pup we raised, is now a Skilled Companion to a young fella in Pennsylvania. And I admit, I struggle with the words to express how blessed we feel that this family has embraced ours and included us in their lives. We sent Inga off filled with our love to share. And now it’s coming back to us. This, my friends, is just awesome stuff. [sniff]

Hey Yax, I think today’s my half birthday. Just sayin’.

The accompanying note instructed us to open the gift before we celebrate as it contained something Yax would want to put on his birthday cupcake.

Oh! Adorable!

Now don’t feel pity for Yaxley when I share this next tidbit. He didn’t get to actually eat the cupcake. I rather enjoyed the chocolatey thing in his honor. Instead, he was rewarded handsomely for not touching people food. He got his very own Iams dog biscuit. 

Make a wish, Yaxley!

I wish that were a dog cookie.

Which, when you consider it, means his birthday wish really did come true.

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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.

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