One Year Later - a Lucy Post

It's been a little over a year ago since Cosmos left me. I still agonize over his death, wondering if I did the right thing (I did) and at the right time (I'm not sure). But one thing I know for sure is that his leaving me opened up a slot for this dog:

 

Eric & I ventured down to the South Los Angeles shelter and rescued our Lucy on her scheduled day of execution.  A dog leaves me, another comes into my life.

It's been an amazing year of transformation for both me and Lucy.  A new family, home, and a yard!  Lucy, and her older brother Sunny, have florished in the new living situation.  Sunny, who I thought wouldn't be with us for more than a couple of months after Cosmos left is alive and kicking, and when the motivation is right, he still breaks into a rusty arthritic trot.  He's loved and coddled and knows that he's living the good life.

Lucy was so young when we rescued her (the pound said 2 years in her listing; my vet laughed and figured about 8 months), I don't think she quite appreciates the change in her standing.  However, she went from pound dog to condo dog to a dog with a big house and a yard and lots of other big dogs in other yards to bark at and children to play with and grown ups to feed and love her.  She is a very happy girl.

If you can't sit through the whole video, fast forward to the last 30 seconds. The look on Lucy's face says it all.

Rescue pets rock. And what a difference a year makes!

Natural Gas

This is the dog.
This is the dog who shares my bed.
Or should I say, this is the dog who allows me to share his bed.
And this is the dog who, single handedly, could be a source of enough natural gas to power the world well into the next decade.

This is the air filter.
This is the air filter that I bought a couple of weeks ago during the big fires out here.
Although the fires have abated, at least for now, I keep the air filter running.
For it seems that it has the power to suck dog gas into it's filter and emit clear air.

Three cheers for Hepa Filters!

Thirty posts in thirty days. This is day 3.

A Post by Cosmos

Dear "Dolly Ann",

Or whoever you are:

I have been enjoying getting the occasional update and e-mail about your progress out there on the farm. You know, city dogs have a whole different picture of what "the farm" is, and it is not a good place to go. But it sounds like your farm is a really nice place to live.

I approve of you bending so many rules to meet your own puppy purposes. That you now enjoy people food makes me very happy although why you would waste your time on vegetables is beyond me. I hear that you are escaping and going upstairs and have laid claim to a bed. You are becomming more and more in control of your humans. Good girl!

But then, I received some new pictures, purportedly showing your progress. And my world went upside down. There is a new dog in town and it is claiming to be you!

I know what you look like. Exhibit 1, of which I approve of because you are eating: Exhibit 2: Who is this? This is not a dog who is eating, but it is a whole lot bigger than you are. It appears to be laying on the same floor that you occupied before. It is listening to me. Look at how it's ear is cocked. It looks a little bit worried. Does it know that I am on to it?
Exhibit 3: There you are again. You are laying on your back looking very cute by the kitchen oven. I love the oven. Good things come out of it.
Exhibit 4: The new dog is trying to pretend it's you by lying on it's back in the same position as you. But they don't say "she lied like a dog" for nothing.
Exhibit 5: Look at how calm and sedate this dog is. Nothing like the stories that I have heard about you.
Dolly Ann, are you out there? Or has this new dog come in and eaten you, then taken your place? It is so much bigger than you that the impersonation is certainly a fraud.

Your friend in barking always,

Cosmos

Dog Jail

Yesterday I had occasion to vaccum up my bedroom floor. My boys are sloppy eaters (ok, they're disgusting) and even when pursuing something as innocuous as dog biscuts, they always leave a trail. You should have seen the size of the crumbs that were going up the tube. Jagged, lopsided. A terror to step on barefoot.

My dogs pretty-much have the run of the house. They sleep on my antique furniture and at night, Cosmos deigns to allow me into his bed. They rummage through the pantry and refrigerator at will. They shred paper, scatter trash, play with my dirty laundry. All without reprisal. But there is one commandment in my home.

Thou shalt not eat thy dog biscuits in my bed.

That rule came about through a lesson hard learned. One of my dogs past took a biscuit in bed, and I'm here to tell you that not eating crackers in bed, lest the crumbs disturb you, is nothing compared to rolling over in the dead of night onto a piece of Milk Bone. The commandment is a hard-and-fast rule in my home and seldom tested.

Seldom. There was that time a couple of years ago with Cosmos...


It was spring. Every spring my dogs seem to go through a phase where they are re establishing who is Alpha. Or should we say Beta, because I have the honor - just barely - of being Alpha in our home. My status as such is directly tied to the can opener, but such as it is, it's mine.

Generally, they fight with eath other. Snarling teeth and laid back ears and a lot of posturing. I learned early on not to get in the middle of their arguments. Generally they don't hurt each other. But if I interfere, I get bit. By both of them.

One day, I came into the bedroom to find Cosmos in the middle of the bed. (Those were the days when Cosmos could still jump in bed on his own.) He gave me a somewhat malovelent glare when I walked in, so I knew that something was up. I took a closer look and sure enough, he was just starting to eat a dog biscuit. "Get out of the bed!" I roared. And he laid there and stared at me, declaring himself as in charge.

"Get out of the bed. NOW!" No move on his part.

I stepped closer. "You know that you are not allowed to eat dog biscuits in bed." Cosmos seemed to rise to his feet like strings were pulling him upwards from the shoulders and hips. If looks could kill, I would not be typing this story now.

"Get out!" Cosmos slowly reached down and picked up his dog biscuit. Then even slower, turned his eyes-of-defiance on me. And peed. Right there on my down comforter, through the sheets, the mattress pad, and into the mattress itself!

To say I was furious was an understatement. Don't get me wrong. I love my dogs. I love Cosmos. But at times, I could kill the little son of a bitch. And I can say that because he was a son of a bitch. Really. Think about it.

Well, I don't believe in physical punishment, especially of dogs. I removed his dog biscuit, yelled at him until he cowered, removed the sheets and blankets, and did laundry. I was not happy.

It took about 2 1/2 hours to complete the job and remake the bed. Comforters take a long time to dry. But finally the task was done and I was feeling much more kindly towards Cozie. Kindly enough to give both dogs biscuits once again.

A few minutes later, I walked into the bedroom. Cosmos was again in the middle of the bed, munching down. I screamed. He rose quickly and didn't even give me a chance to get him down. He gave me yet another malevolent glare full of fury at being disturbed at his snack and let loose. Yes, you guessed it. He peed in the bed for the 2nd time that day.

At that point, I had had it. I knew that I was going to have to go through the entire cleaning again. Hours and hours wasted because my dog is a pig. And so I came as close to getting truly physical with him as I ever have. I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him down off of the mattress. Dragged him across the floor. Through the master bathroom. And in there, I installed him inside of the glass-door shower. Dog jail.

Cosmos was miserable. He barked and cried and scrached and made a rucus of unprecedented volume. And trust me, his precedented volume was at many decibles. I was so mad that I made a point of being seen by him, but paid no attention. I went about the business of cleaning our bed yet again. Wash, dry, another 2 1/2 hours. That's all I did that day. Laundry. As a result of a dog.

Cosmos was paroled once the bed was remade. He was quite contrite. And to this day, he has never peed in the bed again.

Dogs Rule

Both of my dogs are getting up there in years. Given that, like grumpy old men, they are getting really set in their ways. Especially Cosmos.

He has certain - ahem - rituals that must be adhered to. Breakfast at 7. Biscuit at 10. Dinner at 5. And it's time to go to bed prompty at 9:30pm. His bed, which he kindly allows me to share.
When it's time to put him into the bed, he comes to me. Aggitated. Insistant. Crying like a squeaky wheel. And when I ask him if he would like me to put him into the bed, he reacts clearly. A very relieved expression on his face at a minimum. Often he will get up and run in little circles in anticipation. And sometimes I get the impatient bark. "Ok, get on with it. Help me jump in."

When we're by ourselves, I can put him into the bed (he requires assistance these days because he's too arthritic to jump in on his own) and then go on about my own business. But when Eric is over, he needs to monitor the situation. Be sure that Eric is aware that I belong to him. So on those Friday nights that we decide to stay in, we will typically go into the studio and watch TV, Cozie on the floor. And when it's time for him to go to bed, he can still hear what is going on.

This evening was different, though. We decided, ah - around 10pm, that it would be nice to have a cup of tea. I went up into the kitchen to prepare it while Eric stayed behind on my computer. Later joining me at the kitchen table, Cosmos at our feet.

Cozie was clearly aggitated. Not connecting the time with his distress, I initially thought he was looking for a biscuit. I admonished him, telling him that it was just too late to eat and that he would have to do without. But after a little while, it dawned on me that he was ready for bed and it was not acceptable that we should populate the front of the condominium at a time like that.

I asked him if he would like me to put him into the bed. An immediate sharp bark of approval. I got up and he spun in circles so fast that he was hardly even a blur. We walked back, I helped him in, and then I went out front to rejoin Eric.

Within five minutes, I heard a thud in the bedroom, and then Cosmos appeared from out of the hall. Clearly irritated. Tired. Not prepared to put up with this nonsense. He came to us, gave me a pointed stare of disgust, and then proceeded to cry. Loudly.

I looked at Eric helplessly. Asked him if he would mind joining us in the back room. Being the consumate good sport, he immediately agreed.

And so it came to be that the dog hijacked our date night. I put Cozie into the bed, I joined him, and Eric joined us on the other side. We both pet Cosmos although he made it quite clear that only I was important. He pointedly looked away from Eric and rested his head on my waist. And then, to seal the deal, he insisted that I move between him and Eric and he (we) napped, Cosmos pressing up against my back.

Yes, I was the meat-in-the-sandwich. The only thing that would have made it "perfect" was if 'Torn between two lovers' had been softly playing on the radio.

A Good Night's Sleep

Where, exactly, is it written that the dog must sleep in his (our) bed in such a way that there is no room for the servant (me)? And why, exactly, must I let sleeping dogs lie?

On Being A Dog: A "Cosmos" Post

I love to Blog (I have a much wider audience than by e-mailing my immediate friends). There are times that I must Blog about my Mom, especially when she makes a fool (I almost typed food) out of herself.

I am a dog and being thus distinguished, there are some things that are simply apparent.

I will eat any food so long as it is not fruit or vegetable.
I like to sleep a lot.
I like to go for walks every day. They give me opportunity to pick up my pee-mail.
And I enjoy passing copious amounts of gas.

The thing about people is that they think they don't like my gas. Mom included. She complains of course, but underneath her negative commentary is a sense of relief. You see, she passes gas too and thank God for me. She can blame it on me when her friends are over.

Last night, she thought she really had me. She ate curry in her dinner and was thus affected. She tooted and tooted the whole night long. I overheard her laughing about it with her friends, and I even heard her say that she got "revenge' upon me.

She just never get's it. She doesn't understand. I am a dog. I love all things disgusting.

I live for curry farts.