Hi, again, folks. I just wanted to let every one know that I haven't forgotten about you. I will be dutifully posting each Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. That way, I won't run out of things to say (...right, like that could ever happen) and I will still have time in my life for other things. So lets get on with it shall we?
Sammy the wonder dog: AKA Frolic:
My last "Sammy" post left off with her stuck in a cage that couldn't be opened by any one under 6 feet tall. I fell a good 6 inches short of that mark. But, I was determined to brighten her day and so I went and played with her through the wires, fed her goodies and gave her some personal attention.
Each week that I went into the kennels I found fewer and fewer of the "F" series of pups in the room. I had just assumed that they were being used for blood or bone marrow donation and would be returned, yet each week another one disappeared. The Coordinator finally informed me that the whole litter was being released for adoption. Any pups left over would be earmarked for continued studies, most likely terminal.
So far, all but one of the pups had been spoken for; Frolic.
Back at home, I casually mentioned the situation to my "then" boyfriend/roommate, who immediately responded with a resounding "NO". In fact, I think his "I told you so" is still pinging around the local escarpment and annoying the wildlife. I had expected this and knew very well that we had no business adopting a dog, let alone a hound cross that may be some what difficult to train. Hounds are not well known for their intelligence or obedience. I merely smiled, assuaged his fears by listing off all of the reasons we couldn't adopt a dog and then let the matter drop.
But I was haunted by her sweet face and feline tail. You see Frolic has the MOST expressive eyes and tail of any dog I have ever known. Her eyes are outlined with black, giving her a very seductive, Cleopatra-type of look. Her eyes emote happiness, fear and sadness with a drama that would put most of the silent stars to shame. Her tail acts as the back up to her eyes. Wagging furiously or curled, quiveringly, tight under her belly, there is no mistaking her moods.
There was a very real intelligence screaming out from her eyes that appealed to me.
I began a de-sensitization mission on Richard. I would casually mention how nice it would be to have company at home, security-wise, during the nights that he worked till 4am at the bars or describe the post surgical state of one of my terminal study walking dogs. Basically, I committed horrendous acts of guerrilla- guilt war fare upon my darling partner until he found himself asking after her.
After a week or two of this, Rich broke down from his "NO dog" stance to the infinitly more democratic "No hound dogs" position. I happily agreed with him. After all, who could possibly want an untrainable, barky, ugly little hound mutt? I kindly told him that the kennels had some lovely Border Collie mixes and Shepherd mixes that were infinitely more beautiful and trainable. The poor sucker agreed to meet them all provided he got the final say. Can you say " I win, I win, I win!!!!!" ?
The day Richie came in, I had several dogs ready for him to choose from. There was Tanis, a beautiful red Border Collie that looked just like Murray in the television show "Mad About You". I knew he would flip over her and brought her in first to get the excitement out of the way. Flip he did. Tanis was everything he was looking for in a pet, beauty, personality and obedience. He would have walked out right then and there with her if I hadn't reminded him of the other finalists waiting for their chance.
Next came Whisper. She was a lovely little gray Collie mix that was very quiet and shy. She would just stay glued to my knees and was to nervous to approach Richie or interact with him. As sweet as she was, she just didn't have the impact of Tanis.
Last of all I brought in Frolic. Rich stayed out of the room to watch the dog interacting with me before he came in. Frolic immediately began rummaging around the room following her Hound nose. She counter surfed and ignored me until she had completely checked out the space and determined that there were no treats left unattended. What a great first impression. I could tell by Richie's eyes that he was considerably underwhelmed. Then Frolic sauntered over to me, crowned me with her sweetest nose-poke-to-the-eyeball (signature Frolic move and sign of true love!) and snuggled into my lap as though she owned it. Richie came in at my beckoning. Frolic gave him love and nose pokes and Rich responded by sneezing and itching. "For the love of Mike" I was screaming in my head, "Could any thing else go wrong?" Which is about when she squatted on the floor and peed.
Sensing that Rich had reached maximum exposure, I smiled, hugged Frolic once more and returned her to the kennel (I had brought a step ladder from home to use to untie the door).
We went home to "discuss" the candidates.
It was a lively one sided discussion all the way home on the glorious merits of Tanis. It wasn't until late that night that I began my counter arguments. I proceeded to agree with every thing he said, because Tanis really was a cool dog and would certainly fit into our lifestyle really well. It was just a shame that she was being held back because one of the vet students was still deciding whether or not to adopt her. Although, I was sure we could both agree that life on a horse farm would be far more appropriate for Tanis than the urban apartment lifestyle we were planning.
I mentioned that Whisper was one of the walker's darlings and that she was sure to be adopted quickly with her quiet nature and beautiful colourings. I just, really, felt badly for Frolic. She was such an ugly, untrained, little thing she didn't have a hope in hell. Who would adopt a dog that had demonstrated every bad doggy habit in the book in a 15 minute look see?
.....Now, here, is where that one psychology course in University has come in really handy. You see, Rich and I were both closet geeks. We were the type of people who understood the position of the classic underdog (please forgive me, but I had to use the word atleast once). Of all people, Rich would not be able to pass judgement on "one of his own!!!"
I let the information marinate for a day or two, mentioned that Whisper had been adopted and Tanis was almost certain to be gone but that Frolic still wasn't adopted nor getting walked by any one but me. I let him come to me.
Three days after our first look-see, Richie came to me in a real huff, he demanded to know why I bothered to show him all those other dogs when clearly my heart was set on the one. "Why had I told him it was his choice, when clearly I had already made the choice?" He wasn't actually angry with me, he was angry that he wanted Frolic, not because she was his choice of dog but because no one else did. I, naturally, apologized profusely and begged him to let us adopt her because she had no one else. Game, Set and Match.
Frolic came home with us that day and has been wreaking havok on our lives ever since. We decided to name her Sam because she wasn't a Frolic. She had a tougher core and alot more to offer than that namby pamby name allowed. Not to mention standing at the top of a hill and yelling "Frooooooollllliiiiiiiicccccc" at the top of my lungs was just something I coulsn't being myself to do. She never responded to Frolic any way. Sam's full name is actually Samiad, after the queerly ugly, wish granting, creature in the story Five Children and It by E. Nesbitt. It fits her to a "T"
There you have it, the auspicious beginnings of Sam the wonder dog. Her peculiar life took several bizarre turns once she arrived in our apartment, but those stories will need to wait for later.
Have a great day even if you are JUSTAMOM....'cause I know I am
Maggie
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Friday, May 2, 2008
Friday= True Confessions of a Serial Slacker!
Alrightey folks, it's true confessions time... and please feel free to join me in cathartic public humiliation!
I don't make the beds unless company is coming and ONLY if that company cannot be contained on the first floor of the house.
Phew, there, I said it out loud, there is no taking it back now. My husband's darling Scottish Granny is probably snorting and rolling her eyes at the low class, flake her sweet Grandson is saddled with. But I'm not sure I could ever live up to her Martha Stewarty example... she actually IRONS all their bedding! I am in awe. I can't even fold the fitted sheets. I just bundle them around my arm until they are smallish and squishy enough to fit on the shelf.
Seriously though...WHY? Why the hell should I make something that I am just going to mess up again in another 16 hours? It makes absolutely no sense to me whatsoever. I can understand putting my clothing away after I wash it, so it won't get dirty (not that I do, I am very proud of my FLOOR-DROBE, it is so easy and accessible and provides the dogs with such cushy little nesting sites), but the bed thing I don't get. It gets made when I change the sheets and not again until they need to be changed. I don't find a remade bed any comfier or more aesthetically pleasing. In fact, when I look at a re-made bed, I think well thats 5 minutes of my life I won't be getting back... I could have used that in a far more productive if not self indulgent way!
Do you have a confession you would like to get off your chest? Preferably in a place no one else will ever read it? Well, here is your chance, simply write in a comment, I'll post it here and we will all revel in our little personal rebellions publicly! Long Live The Slackers!!!
It's just life as I see it: take it or leave it, after all "WHATDOIKNOWIMJUSTAMOM"
Maggie
I don't make the beds unless company is coming and ONLY if that company cannot be contained on the first floor of the house.
Phew, there, I said it out loud, there is no taking it back now. My husband's darling Scottish Granny is probably snorting and rolling her eyes at the low class, flake her sweet Grandson is saddled with. But I'm not sure I could ever live up to her Martha Stewarty example... she actually IRONS all their bedding! I am in awe. I can't even fold the fitted sheets. I just bundle them around my arm until they are smallish and squishy enough to fit on the shelf.
Seriously though...WHY? Why the hell should I make something that I am just going to mess up again in another 16 hours? It makes absolutely no sense to me whatsoever. I can understand putting my clothing away after I wash it, so it won't get dirty (not that I do, I am very proud of my FLOOR-DROBE, it is so easy and accessible and provides the dogs with such cushy little nesting sites), but the bed thing I don't get. It gets made when I change the sheets and not again until they need to be changed. I don't find a remade bed any comfier or more aesthetically pleasing. In fact, when I look at a re-made bed, I think well thats 5 minutes of my life I won't be getting back... I could have used that in a far more productive if not self indulgent way!
Do you have a confession you would like to get off your chest? Preferably in a place no one else will ever read it? Well, here is your chance, simply write in a comment, I'll post it here and we will all revel in our little personal rebellions publicly! Long Live The Slackers!!!
It's just life as I see it: take it or leave it, after all "WHATDOIKNOWIMJUSTAMOM"
Maggie
Thursday, May 1, 2008
A Bit More About The Important People In My Life.
I was originally going to introduce you to my human family, but on second thought, I will introduce you to my dogs first. You see they are fabulous fodder for blog material. They are as peculiar as me, but cuter and infinitely more endearing.
I have two dogs, Sam and Kaos. They are both female and are aged, repectively, 10 and 9. I have learned so much about life through and from them that I am not sure I would be the well rounded person I am today (grehhhmmph,koff koff... jeez even I couldn't type that with a straight face, sorry to get so schmucky there.... I'm over it now).
Lets meet Sam first shall we? I can't really introduce you to the wonder that is Sam until I give you some back ground on our first meeting. So with no further ado.... Flashback time!
When I was in University, I had promised myself that I would not get a pet that was more time intensive than a goldfish. I knew that doing school full time and working three jobs would not leave enough time to properly care for a pet. After all, to any one with integrity or morals, the only thing worse than not having a pet, is having one and giving them sub-standard care.
But, I had never lived without the constant companionship of a dog before...EVER. So, after floppin around and trying to figure out what was missing in my life and fully revelling in all that self-indulgent, university-type, wanna-be-deep, artsy-fartsy, soul searching, I finally realized I was missing a safe friendship.
Any one who has ever befriended a dog knows exactly what I mean by "Safe Friendship". It is a friendship without emotional blackmail. A friendship where you aren't constantly trying to figure out deep motives, underlying psychoses or survive psychopathic dominance games (regardless of what putzs like Ceasar Milan would have us believe). In short a canine friendship. There is a remarkable purity and beauty to the love and devotion of a dog. They inspire me to be a better person because it is what they believe I am anyway.
So I went to volunteer at the Vet school on campus. The Vet college has a huge kennel of dogs that they use for laboratory work, surgery practice, behavioural and drug studies etc. They either breed the dogs themselves (when they need a controlled genetic study) or take the "unadoptable" dogs from the local Humane societies. Many of the Vet students adopt their "study" beagles rather than perform their final "Euthanasia" project. Likewise, some of the researchers, walkers and students are allowed to adopt the few dogs that are not in terminal studies and that haven't become aggressive or dangerously insane.
-------I will be posting a thread devoted to this issue very soon, for now we will just let the horror wash over our collective conscious, of all the irresponsible idiots that; buy a dog on a whim, get tired of it or decide to move...dump it at the shelter to "Find a NEW great home" only to have the dog NOT be adopted becuase it is too old... the fad breed of yesterday NOT today... or they didn't bother to train it and it is too much work for some one else to bother to train..
Either way darling Fluffy or Rover is left languishing in the cold, hard, cement floored and windowless kennels packed full of sad, desperate dogs barking for a sustained 23 hours a day. No doubt wondering when their Humans will be coming back to save them from another unnecessary surgery or painful drug study. Right, sorry bit of a tangent there. 'Nuff said for now.
SO...this huge kennel allows volunteers to come in and take the dogs for walks or playtime so that they get to see sunlight for 5 minutes once in awhile. Faced with the difficult choice of trying to walk far more dogs than I logically had time for, I studied the walking sheets. As it turns out, we Humans are not unilatterly generous. The walkers all had favourites that they would show up to walk, for 10 minutes at a time, several times a week. This meant that there were literally dozens of dogs that never got out of their small 3X4 kennels, except for procedures and tests.
To be fair, this was likely because so many of the dogs were largely untrained and somewhat difficult to walk on the paltry rope leashes the vet school provided. Most of the other walkers were either retired and/or elderly people. Who may not have been strong enough to handle the more rambunctious dogs. But my sense of fair play was incensed enough that I immediately began to walk all of the "unwalkable dogs" for 5 minutes each: trying to give them as much fun and exercise, while getting as many out as I could. I had arms like Popeye after a month of this. Some of those dogs were completely kennel mad and had developed OCD behaviours to pass the time. They were completely unaware of a person at the end of the lead...but at least they got to smell some fresh air.
There was a litter of pups that had been bred to have kidney disease, so that the researchers could watch how it was expressed genetically through the generations. The whole litter was nullified because none of them had inherited the condition. They were being used as blood and bone marrow donors for the dogs that the vets were performing surgery on. They were scheduled to be placed into terminal studies if they were not adopted out.
These puppies were 6 months and were a crazy mix of German Shepherd, Border Collie, Rottweiler and Hound. Some of the pups looked like huge Shepherd mixes. One looked like a big red Vizla. Another was the spitting image of a yellow Lab and several others were the spitting image of a huge blood hound. These were the "F" series of pups. Their names all began with the letter F; such as Faun, Fletch, Fudge, Frolic etc. They were clearly the darlings of the walkers as they usually all got out for walks. All except one. Her name was Frolic and she looked the most "mixed" of them all. She was small and scrawny and had a hound face with a whippet-like body. She was a combination of so many different parts that her body looked like it had been drawn by a four year old. Her back end was higher than her front, her tail was far too long to be aesthetically pleasing and it curled and twined like a serpent. She was housed in her little 3X4 kennel with her adorable sister Faun who looked like a yellow lab. Faun was walked several times a week, but Frolic must have been too ugly to tug on any one's heart strings.
I'm sure you will have guessed who Frolic is already. I will tell the rest of the story later on, for now you just need to know that Faun was adopted immediately. However, when I went in to walk Frolic, I found her cage door had been inverted and tied with metal twine. I couldn't budge it to get her out for a walk.
She howled pitieously and was thrashing around, desperately eyeing the door. She had never been without her sister for so long and was clearly frightened.
I left to walk the other dogs on my roster, resolving to bring her some treats to make up for being unable to walk her.
Its funny how, some times, we don't consciously recognize the, soon to be, most important person in our lives. But, deep in the recesses of my brain.... thoughts of her were humming along and kept cropping up at the most unusual times. I didn't know if yet, but we had clicked!
Thats all for now. Have a great day, even if you are JUSTAMOM.
Maggie
I have two dogs, Sam and Kaos. They are both female and are aged, repectively, 10 and 9. I have learned so much about life through and from them that I am not sure I would be the well rounded person I am today (grehhhmmph,koff koff... jeez even I couldn't type that with a straight face, sorry to get so schmucky there.... I'm over it now).
Lets meet Sam first shall we? I can't really introduce you to the wonder that is Sam until I give you some back ground on our first meeting. So with no further ado.... Flashback time!
When I was in University, I had promised myself that I would not get a pet that was more time intensive than a goldfish. I knew that doing school full time and working three jobs would not leave enough time to properly care for a pet. After all, to any one with integrity or morals, the only thing worse than not having a pet, is having one and giving them sub-standard care.
But, I had never lived without the constant companionship of a dog before...EVER. So, after floppin around and trying to figure out what was missing in my life and fully revelling in all that self-indulgent, university-type, wanna-be-deep, artsy-fartsy, soul searching, I finally realized I was missing a safe friendship.
Any one who has ever befriended a dog knows exactly what I mean by "Safe Friendship". It is a friendship without emotional blackmail. A friendship where you aren't constantly trying to figure out deep motives, underlying psychoses or survive psychopathic dominance games (regardless of what putzs like Ceasar Milan would have us believe). In short a canine friendship. There is a remarkable purity and beauty to the love and devotion of a dog. They inspire me to be a better person because it is what they believe I am anyway.
So I went to volunteer at the Vet school on campus. The Vet college has a huge kennel of dogs that they use for laboratory work, surgery practice, behavioural and drug studies etc. They either breed the dogs themselves (when they need a controlled genetic study) or take the "unadoptable" dogs from the local Humane societies. Many of the Vet students adopt their "study" beagles rather than perform their final "Euthanasia" project. Likewise, some of the researchers, walkers and students are allowed to adopt the few dogs that are not in terminal studies and that haven't become aggressive or dangerously insane.
-------I will be posting a thread devoted to this issue very soon, for now we will just let the horror wash over our collective conscious, of all the irresponsible idiots that; buy a dog on a whim, get tired of it or decide to move...dump it at the shelter to "Find a NEW great home" only to have the dog NOT be adopted becuase it is too old... the fad breed of yesterday NOT today... or they didn't bother to train it and it is too much work for some one else to bother to train..
Either way darling Fluffy or Rover is left languishing in the cold, hard, cement floored and windowless kennels packed full of sad, desperate dogs barking for a sustained 23 hours a day. No doubt wondering when their Humans will be coming back to save them from another unnecessary surgery or painful drug study. Right, sorry bit of a tangent there. 'Nuff said for now.
SO...this huge kennel allows volunteers to come in and take the dogs for walks or playtime so that they get to see sunlight for 5 minutes once in awhile. Faced with the difficult choice of trying to walk far more dogs than I logically had time for, I studied the walking sheets. As it turns out, we Humans are not unilatterly generous. The walkers all had favourites that they would show up to walk, for 10 minutes at a time, several times a week. This meant that there were literally dozens of dogs that never got out of their small 3X4 kennels, except for procedures and tests.
To be fair, this was likely because so many of the dogs were largely untrained and somewhat difficult to walk on the paltry rope leashes the vet school provided. Most of the other walkers were either retired and/or elderly people. Who may not have been strong enough to handle the more rambunctious dogs. But my sense of fair play was incensed enough that I immediately began to walk all of the "unwalkable dogs" for 5 minutes each: trying to give them as much fun and exercise, while getting as many out as I could. I had arms like Popeye after a month of this. Some of those dogs were completely kennel mad and had developed OCD behaviours to pass the time. They were completely unaware of a person at the end of the lead...but at least they got to smell some fresh air.
There was a litter of pups that had been bred to have kidney disease, so that the researchers could watch how it was expressed genetically through the generations. The whole litter was nullified because none of them had inherited the condition. They were being used as blood and bone marrow donors for the dogs that the vets were performing surgery on. They were scheduled to be placed into terminal studies if they were not adopted out.
These puppies were 6 months and were a crazy mix of German Shepherd, Border Collie, Rottweiler and Hound. Some of the pups looked like huge Shepherd mixes. One looked like a big red Vizla. Another was the spitting image of a yellow Lab and several others were the spitting image of a huge blood hound. These were the "F" series of pups. Their names all began with the letter F; such as Faun, Fletch, Fudge, Frolic etc. They were clearly the darlings of the walkers as they usually all got out for walks. All except one. Her name was Frolic and she looked the most "mixed" of them all. She was small and scrawny and had a hound face with a whippet-like body. She was a combination of so many different parts that her body looked like it had been drawn by a four year old. Her back end was higher than her front, her tail was far too long to be aesthetically pleasing and it curled and twined like a serpent. She was housed in her little 3X4 kennel with her adorable sister Faun who looked like a yellow lab. Faun was walked several times a week, but Frolic must have been too ugly to tug on any one's heart strings.
I'm sure you will have guessed who Frolic is already. I will tell the rest of the story later on, for now you just need to know that Faun was adopted immediately. However, when I went in to walk Frolic, I found her cage door had been inverted and tied with metal twine. I couldn't budge it to get her out for a walk.
She howled pitieously and was thrashing around, desperately eyeing the door. She had never been without her sister for so long and was clearly frightened.
I left to walk the other dogs on my roster, resolving to bring her some treats to make up for being unable to walk her.
Its funny how, some times, we don't consciously recognize the, soon to be, most important person in our lives. But, deep in the recesses of my brain.... thoughts of her were humming along and kept cropping up at the most unusual times. I didn't know if yet, but we had clicked!
Thats all for now. Have a great day, even if you are JUSTAMOM.
Maggie
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